Branches and Fate
by StudioRat
Summary: You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home? - Set after and sideways of Majora, whereupon Link found a shard of a timeshift stone. With that, the Ocarina, and a lot of For Science!, Time Stuff has happened. Crossposting from AO3.
1. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 1 : T-13

A deceptively mild wind swept the eternal dust of the valley into a stately pavane as Rajo slipped from shadow to shadow in the lowering sunset. When twilight succumbed to the kiss of night, that same wind would sharpen her teeth, but they had no intention of being her prey this night or any other.

Their mothers would lecture and refuse them if they ever noticed Rajo's absence from their proper place among the other children of their section. The division masters would assign repair work and quarry service for their entire section for weeks if they were discovered - and the other children would thereafter devise punishments infinitely more sharp and varied than their elders ever dreamed of.

Rajo held every respect for the reasons behind their rules, for order formed the warp on which the lives of the people were woven. Winter was an unforgiving season just as much as summer, and the rocs of weather and war and wasting took enough souls through the veils of world already, and more from the people than any merciful god should allow. The mothers and the elders were right to guard the children of the people from their own folly until they were old enough to understand.

Rajo slipped between the patrols and over the edge of the roof with all the grace of a lace-weaver's float, following a different law entirely, one as old as the stars.

A thread alone has no meaning and no real value until it is woven into a greater purpose. The potential it represents cannot even be measured until it is woven, but a single thread by its presence or absence may make the difference between a tapestry and a tangle.

It is woven that the greatest of all virtues, and therefore the greatest of all sins, begins and ends with the people. To take from the people what they cannot afford to give is a grave offense, unless the need of the one taking outweighs the need of the bearer, or the taking may be repaid before the damage is too great.

Rajo's need ran soul-deep, and they would return to the people with the sun as they always did. But tonight, they could not bear to lie alone behind stone walls while the wandering fire danced magic across the heavens. If Rajo's thread frayed for a loss of sleep, they knew themselves spun strong enough to bear it.

Rajo dropped silently to the last shallow terrace above the unforgiving ground. The doors on this level had long since been filled in as the fortress grew, and no one, not even the Rova, ever patrolled here. There was no need: its narrow, worn ledges lay in full view of the terraces above, and frequently served a more deadly purpose than offering one small child a rest in their forbidden adventures. From below, the false doors looked real enough, and the terrace itself served to tempt invaders into lingering on its false safety well within the range of the archers hidden above.

Except - Rajo's golden eyes saw things others missed. Twice in the cycle of each day, the terrace on the eastern face lay draped in deepest shadow for exactly half a candlemark as the sun or her wayward silver lover raced for the horizon. They asked once, drunk on the freedom of indulging their discovery seven nights running, why the Rova set no torches on the empty terraces.

The answer, like all answers worth knowing, came in the form of work. The exhaustion of forty nights spent climbing the fortress walls armed and at speed under the close watch of the trainers was no small cost, nor were the torments of their section mates for inciting it. (For everyone knew the moment the lesson began, as they always did, that once again, Rajo had Asked A Question.) No one, not even a whipcord child of the people, honed by the sands and the will of the gods, can climb the fortress walls from the ground to the first real terrace in less than three quarters of a candlemark. Even a legendary sheikah warrior mage could not have scaled the walls in half that time, and they would first need to survive the barren approach.

Rajo held the second-worst record in their section for speed in every kind of climb, and the fourth-worst time in the flat run, although they could carry three times the weight of anyone else while doing either. No one, not even the Rova, entertained the slightest idea that Rajo might escape over the walls, for it was beyond impossible they could ever make the return climb unseen.

But for one tenth of a candlemark, twice a day, Rajo did not need to climb.

The sun took her last step over the far horizon, and twilight spread its blanket over the sky. Rajo waited, chanting the simplest of look-away charms until the moment the fortress' shadow kissed the eastern cliffs.

It is woven that the worlds of the living and the dead are both separate and joined, like cloth made on a doubled warp. Threads may pass from one to the other in the shadows between the shuttle's pass, binding them together, but the no thread can travel both at once.

Except in the hours of twilight and false dawn, when the shuttle of time slows and the shed draws close in passing power from day to night. An ephemeral magic sparked where the spirits of the living and the lost danced together, as rich in promise as it was poor in time.

Rajo reached out once again, and the shadows embraced them as no one and nothing else ever had.


	2. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 2

Rajo savored the walk along the lee of the eastern cliffs as much as they dared, dancing their spindle along in idle quietude. This far from the fortress, no regular patrol could see them, and no mageborn knew to look. Even their awesomely powerful Mothers Rova accepted appearance as truth more often than they would approve of if they knew.

Rajo retired to sleeping quarters when all the other children did, and rose just the same. If no one could say for certain whether or not Rajo's bed saw regular use in between, so also no one thought to ask.

The wind coiled more sharply wherever a tumble of shale and slate and ironroot shrubs cut a steep wash from the limestone cliffs, but Rajo knew its moods well. Under their long mantle of rust and ochre twill, Rajo wore a long split-skirted tunic of coffee-colored vicuña, and matching bloused trousers of dappled twisthorn wool, twice fulled. Fine enough garments to deserve penance for risking them against merciless stone for a child's whim, but old enough that no one had noticed the repairs they'd made already.

Half a candlemark before the wind truly lifted her pace, Rajo shortened their spindle lead and climbed the long slope between the Serpent's Rest and the Sister Stones. By the time the cop grew too fat and ungainly for short twirls, Rajo gained the floor of the first of six sheltered box canyons the people called the Lady's Quiver. Here, the wind traded speed for mischief at every hour, but by some blessing of the gods the stone of this place reflected the heat of day well past nadir even on the coldest nights.

Rajo paused in a sheltered place near the first target pole to start unwinding the raw yarn onto their open right hand. The first few loops were always tricky, balancing tension and angle, better done with focus. Without, the whole thing could collapse in a snarl or turn their fingers purple before the plying was done. Rajo was good at making strong yarn, even better than their favorite sister, though she had twice as many summers behind her.

Rajo repeated words they learned from that same sister when they found the seventh slub in as many loops. At this rate, they would never earn the honor of spinning creamy combed wool into warp, even for plain cloth. Maybe they should do as Nabs had when she was a little, and trade their fine topaz whorlstones for extra lessons in the blade courts.

Time enough to decide some other night - Rajo looped the fuzzy tails of the new yarn around the flat brass hook, and resumed both step and spin. It was so much easier to think like this, wrapped in the song of the desert and the rhythm of the work. Out here, it was even possible to think of nothing at all, which was another magic the Rova didn't think much of.

Sometimes it seemed their mothers didn't think much of any of the magics Rajo was best at.

Rajo hurried their pace, dancing the spindle in wide arcs before them as they slipped along the target line in the shelter of the fence. With so many flaws, there was no reason to take special care balancing the twist. This batch would serve for plain cloth whether it was finished neatly or not. What was more important was getting to their secret place before full night and the wind resumed her wild hunt.

Rajo measured three-fourths of the canyon and half the yarn when they heard the strange and piteous sound. Almost like a lost kitten, but somehow damp, and broken. Rajo paused in the shadow of another target pole, and sent the spindle through three more arcs, listening.

The sound came again, and this time they understood it was coming from the shadows somewhere ahead, where the canyon took a sharp turn and narrowed to barely more than a quarter it's breadth. The night hid all manner of creatures, some hungry, but this sound matched nothing Rajo knew of.

The novelty decided for them. If it was a dangerous creature, it was still twilight for another little while, and Rajo was certain they could get away without too much challenge. Evading discovery for the rest of the night until they could safely return to the Fortress would be a more difficult matter, but best not to spend worry on it until the time came.

The sound strangely did not grow any louder as Rajo eased closer, hurrying the remaining yarn along towards a settled twist. There was still too much of it to simply wind on the spindle without it tangling. The sound did, however, gain a troubling catch and whistle in its muffled discord. Angnu had sounded like that, when the long fever deepened, with the terrible red cough.

Rajo caught the spindle in their right hand as they snuck around a broken part of the fence. Funny thing, that spot. They didn't remember hearing about any training accidents, but the riding fence along the whole northern end of this canyon was a disaster, and had been for weeks now. The sweet smell of charred wood coiled around them, but under it Rajo now caught the tang of blood and reek of bile.

The shadows moved. Rajo froze in place, watching the darkness under the wreckage of a shattered target pole for some hint of what it hid. They could call a firespark to see more clearly, but the Rova might feel that. Light magic though - the Rova said it was too dangerous for people, a bloodthirsty and unpredictable source of power - but the foreigners' books spoke of light doing wondrous things.

The shadows moved again, before Rajo could decide about calling any magic, and three small moldorm broke through the sand between Rajo and the wreckage. Even in the murk of evening their bared fangs glistened with venom, but the mindless scavengers had no interest in _them_. Whatever pitiful thing cried in its makeshift lair had a more terrible fate slithering towards it.

Moldorm venom was a terrible way to die, but being eaten while paralyzed by it was surely even worse.

Rajo drew their shortblade with their off hand and sprang forward. The wandering fires answered their wordless cry, tearing down from the heavens to spark on Rajo's blade. The slowest moldorm died at the zenith of its instinctive leap. The second ignored its danger and dashed instead for its chosen victim, exploding in a dazzling shower of sparks as it reared back to strike. The third circled back under the sand, and Rajo perched on a splintered section of charred cedar to wait for it.

The wandering fire danced with the wind, and Rajo knew their time grew dangerously short. Still, the last moldorm circled the wreckage, sand hissing over its segmented carapace as it burrowed underneath. The lair must only be open on this side, or the moldorm would have shifted at once to the unguarded approach. The things had no consciousness, but instinct and hunger was more than enough to make them formidable.

At last, it yielded to the temptation of its wounded prey, and burst from cover in a shallow arc. Rajo met it in the air, stunning it with their heavy spindle and slicing through its open jaws with their long knife. It squealed as it thrashed, and Rajo stabbed at it until it fell silent at last.

The wind laughed, cruel and hungry.

Rajo ducked under the shelter of the fallen target board, whispering a don't-move spell from the Rovas' notebooks. A fragment of foreign magic, short-lived and easily broken, but perhaps enough to stun the wounded creature before it could launch a desperate attack. Even exhausted and in pain, a cornered wild thing could strike without warning.

The stench turned Rajo's stomach, but what brought them to their knees was the sight of splintered white bone and glistening fat erupting through - not fur or scales or hide - but fragile human skin.


	3. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 3

"Din's merciful fires," Rajo swore.

"Fuh," answered the dying stranger, the grotesquely swollen fingers of their left hand twitching.

"Don't move - that makes it worse-" Rajo began, sheathing their knife and fumbling the half-finished yarn off their other hand.

"Fuhhrr-!" said the stranger, ignoring Rajo's instructions and twisting their mottled, swollen face away towards the back of the shelter.

Rajo looked too - something bright lay under a heap of enormous splinters and stray tumbleweeds. With a snort of disgust for the stranger's greed, Rajo crawled deeper into the shelter. Whatever was more important than dying had to be amazing.

"Fauhhh-" said the stranger again, in their broken, wheezing tones as Rajo dug through the sand and wreckage to uncover the precious object.

"Here," said Rajo, shoving the shining, glittery trash at the stranger impatiently. "There's your stupid bottle - stay still while I get the mothers."

"Fah," whispered the stranger, reaching impotently for its light. "Ahl. Fah - ahl."

Rajo frowned. The bright bottle shimmered, filling the shelter with a dappled rose-gold light. The stranger's wounds were terrible, and they were also incredibly dirty from dragging themselves through the sand. It was worse than when Dira fell into the corral with the new string of foreign horses, and there was no knowing how long the stranger had lain this way. Even the Rova might not be able to do much now.

"Ahl," said the dying stranger, tears oozing down their battered, bloody, misshapen face. "Ahhhl-p."

"Yeah, help," said Rajo, sidling back towards the entrance of the shelter where the wind was beginning to wail as she ran. "You gotta stay awake though while I get it."

"Nnnn - fah! Faaahr," said the stranger with a whimper, hitching their broken body closer to Rajo, curving towards the bright bottle lying in the sand.

Rajo stopped. The stranger's movements made their stomach rise into their throat and threaten to shame them. It wasn't just the sight of grinding bone and shifting viscera - although that was bad enough. Rajo had imagination - too much of it, the Rova said, and most of the training masters agreed.

"I don't understand," Rajo said at last, staring hard at the bottle, wishing its light could blot out the images burned into their mind.

"Fahhr," whispered the stranger, tapping the shining glass with their broken fingers, pawing impotently at the corked end.

Rajo glanced behind them at the sky. Too late - the timeless shadow roads of twilight gave way to the tangled paths of night. Even if they could make it back to the fortress tonight with the wind in pursuit, they would certainly not be able to bring help before dawn.

Rajo repeated one of Nabs favorite words, and sat beside the stranger.

"Ahhl-p," said the stranger, touching the edge of Rajo's mantle and then the bright bottle with a damp and unsettling grinding noise when they moved.

Rajo sighed. This was _not_ how tonight should have gone. They picked up the grimy, glittering bottle, trying to puzzle through what made the stranger want it so much. The heavy glass was thick and slightly bubbly - whatever spell made it glitter was somehow caught inside. Rajo pried the cork free to get a closer look, and the world exploded.


	4. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 4

Rajo drifted in arms of the wandering fire, dizzy yet somehow content. The dancing lights didn't make any sense, but that was fine. Patterns were like that. Weaving, words, water. Small pieces could mean anything or nothing, but collect enough of them together and they could make great magics.

One day, Rajo promised, he would wield the beautiful power of the wandering fire and unlock the secrets of the world.

One day, Rajo told the wandering fire, he would bring the people shade and sweet water and tame the ravening wind.

One day, the Rova would be proud of him.

\- o - O - o -

"Hey, is ok now, yeah? Come on, wake up, yeah? You don't want to sleep here, yeah?"

The strange voice grated on Rajo's mind like the sound the sand sea fortress made when the black noon pressed against its walls. Every syllable hissed and whistled at the back of the sound, the words bumped along like slubby yarn, and the sheer stupidity of saying 'yeah' that often made them furious.

"Come on, please," said the voice. "Wake up girl, it's ok, yeah?"

"Din's fire but you're stupid," Rajo swore, grinding their knuckles into their aching eyes. The wandering fire seemed only brighter the longer they lay in it.

The idiot voice cheered, jostling their shoulder and causing the wandering fires to burn in an entirely new way. It babbled about music and magic and apologized for something entirely incomprehensible. They punctuated every thought with another 'yeah' as if that would make up for the strength they obviously lacked. And they kept calling Rajo 'girl'.

"Stop it," said Rajo, blinking through the dazzling fire, trying to sit up.

"Sorry, yeah," said the idiot, withdrawing. "You feeling all better now girl?"

Rajo glared at the weird shining face to their left. It kept moving in the fires - no, Rajo was moving.

No.

The ground was moving.

Rajo said another of Nabs favorite words, and had the slim satisfaction of seeing the glittering idiot recoil in horror. "Three things. I'm not a girl. Stop saying yeah. When I run, you run the other way. Don't stop till you're on rock."

The glittering idiot looked confused. "That's four things. Why running?"

"The mother woke," Rajo said, drawing their long knife and pointing to the fouled, faintly shifting sand below them. The wandering fires hadn't pulled back much at all, but that couldn't be allowed to matter now.

"Oh, no worry. I kill worm, you feel better yeah? Stay put."

Rajo scrambled to their feet as the idiot seized a new face from the sand, which pulled the fabric of magic into its blinding eyes with a horrible rippling fire. The idiot screamed, a deep and tormented sound that reached into Rajo's bones even deeper than the splitting pain that came from standing up into the bottom of the fallen target board.

Rajo pressed their back tight to the wreckage, bracing themself against the pain, desperately grounding their senses in the real as the terrible light pouring off the writhing, expanding form of the glittering stranger stole their vision.

The wind coiled into the shelter as the light ripped it apart, and the ground trembled. The moldorm queen screamed as she broke into the open air - Rajo could not see her through the veils of wandering fire, but they imagined her rearing above them, hungry and vicious.

Nabooru had won a pair of queen's fangs for valor in a raid last spring. They were almost as long as her swords, chased with gold. She kept black powder in one and majir in the other.

She'd given them a black eye for getting caught drunk and scorched from exploring both. Rajo wished she were here to be angry with them now.

"Mother of sands," Rajo prayed, trapped and uncertain. Heartbeats thundered past as the moldorm queen screamed again. The backlash of strong magic rippling through the world pushed their heart into their throat and they struggled to breathe.

Silence, terrible and deadly.

Even the wind fell quiet, whispering past as though she too feared to be noticed.

Shadows began to return at last, tangled at the edge of their vision with chaotic shards of light. Rajo tightened their fist on their knife, praying to the Three for strength against the terrible silence.

The wandering fires veiled themselves one by one, withdrawing their dance to the heavens in silence.

Except for one, its bright form reflecting against the vast lumpen carapace of the fallen queen. Alone of the flames, the pattern of this one resolved before their eyes: a mighty warrior with a terrible shining blade, clothed in the glory of the heavens at noon.

He turned empty, burning eyes on Rajo, hefting his enormous twisted sword.

Rajo Asked a Question.

Or rather, shouted all of them at once in a great tumbling mass, each one racing to be the first off their tongue.

"Who are you? What are you? Did you kill it? Where are you from? Do you speak for the spirits? Do you bring my Name or my death? Who sent you? What is your sword made of? Are you magic?"

The warrior laughed, and his voice was the sound of the black wind and falling stones and the roar of the racing floods.

" _ **Have you lost a name, to need a new one?**_ "

Rajo screamed.


	5. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 5

The fragrance of smoldering cedar and sage sweetened the mineral tang of the grotto, and the chatter of the small fire brightened the cold night. Outside, the wind had long since resumed her merciless hunt, but the winding dry creek and close-grown silverleaf baffled her for now.

Rajo hugged their knees, sitting at the farthest edge of the firelight, watching the shadows and trying not to think about being carried through the night by a spirit so fierce even the wind was afraid of him.

"Sorry I scared you," said the stranger, kneeling a couple paces away. His voice was high and light now, but still bumpy. "Here, tea to keep warm, yeah?"

"I wasn't scared," said Rajo, scowling at the stranger's shadow. It was easier than looking at his moon-pale face.

"It's ok to be scared. I scare me too," he said, crawling just close enough to set the steaming stoneware cup on the cool ground within Rajo's reach.

"That's stupid. You can't be scared of yourself." Rajo refused to look at the cup. It smelled strange and sweet, and it made their tongue stick to the roof of their mouth with want.

The stranger sat back on his heels, looking away so his profile flickered on the smooth grotto wall in front of Rajo. "My name's Link. I was a hero someday. I make it better, yeah? Are you lost?"

"How can you have such strong magic and be so stupid? Spirits are supposed to know everything but you don't even talk right."

"Sorry," said Link. "Still not very good at Gerudo talk, yeah? Maybe you teach me, and Nabooru will be less angry next yesterday."

Rajo groaned. "You're not very good at being a spirit either."

Link laughed. At least this time he sounded like a regular person, and his voice wasn't weird with magic anymore. "No? Maybe you teach me that too. All Gerudo girls know lots about spirits, yeah?"

Rajo sighed. This was even worse than trying to understand the voice inside the Rovas' blue gem. Even if they lived to see morning, no one was ever going to believe them.

"Are you a mean spirit cause you look weird or do you look like that cause you're mean? I'm just ilmaha Rova, ok?"

Link bowed his head. "I'm sorry Miss Ilmaha, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Don't you know _**anything**_?" Rajo said, glaring at Link. He wasn't much taller than Rajo now, and he wasn't shining in warrior's garb anymore, but his moon-pale face was still smooshed-looking and he was wearing strange clothes in the gray and purple of mourning. He looked like the greedy and decadent foreigners the mothers and the warrior sisters told stories about. "Ilmaha isn't a name and I'm too young to be anything else yet. Why are you here? Are you a spy? Did the enemy send you? How do you know Nabs?"

Link wrinkled his already smooshed nose. "Gerudo don't get names for twelve years?"

"Of course ilmaha have names," Rajo said. "And if I _was_ twelve, I could maybe go into the sands and ask the goddesses and spirits for my Name, if the Rova let me. But the mothers say seven is too little, even though I can carry enough water already."

Link frowned, turning his weird blue eyes on Rajo. But - he didn't seem angry, and it wasn't quite as terrible as when he frowned with his shining or broken face. It was hard to look at him, but also strange and fascinating to meet someone with three different faces. When he broke the silence at last, he spoke in a third voice, too. Low and smooth, without the thin and bumpy shapes in his foreign words. "You're too young to be so hard, and so tall. What terrible fate have you seen already, nameless friend?"

"I don't know about fate yet," answered Rajo in the harsh foreigners' words. If the spirit thought to impress or confuse them, he was wrong. "Next year maybe, or the one after, if the war doesn't get really bad and I'm not in trouble forever in the morning. I'm Rajenaya, but only when I'm in trouble. Which is lots."

"Hope," said Link, but his smile looked sad.

"Most call me Rajolaan. Rajo for short."

"That is unkind of them, Rajenaya."

"It's fine," Rajo shrugged. It didn't matter if they were hopelessly clumsy and slow and always needing to know the why of things when they shouldn't. One day, none of that would matter. "It's only until I can ask the spirits in the sands for my Name anyway, and it's not as bad as teasing me for not being avadha yet."

Link bowed his head, his pale hair veiling his reddened face. "I'm sorry, she told me all Gerudo were avadha except for one, but she didn't use ilmaha for… that person."

"We haven't had a king since forever," said Rajo, rolling their eyes. "What's so interesting about ours anyway? Are you trying to steal that too? Why? You have lots of your own."

Nabs said the foreigners had thousands of little kings, all bowing to bigger kings, and the bigger kings to even bigger ones, and even elder mothers were less powerful than the least of their kings. But the Rovas' forbidden books spoke of princesses born with rare and sacred powers, and they seemed more interesting and mysterious than any of the little kings.

Link tangled his fingers together, and looked away.

"Anyways," said Rajo, uncomfortable with only the dripping grotto and chattering fire for company. "Nobody would tell an outsider about us ilmaha, cause you might be a spirit but you look like Hylian spy come to steal us away to put in cages and roast us like cucco if we don't give you treasure and tell you secrets."

Link made a startled, squeaky sound. "That's not true! Hyrule is peace and order and light - the war is just a horrible misunderstanding, a mistake - I'm sure of it - I just need find him and fix it before it began."

Rajo shrugged, eyeing the steaming cup of tea. It really did smell delicious. "They tell stories about us too. Nabs has one of their books, with pictures that are all wrong. We ilmaha mostly live in the secret place because of it, which I won't tell you where it is even if you _**are**_ going to eat me. I like the border fortress best though, because the training courses are bigger and it's closer to the fast waters and the wandering fire."

Link stared, blue eyes wide and searching. "And you're only seven."

"Yeah, so?" said Rajo, their temper rising.

"Your Hylian is nearly perfect," said Link after another long silence.

Rajo sighed, dropping their chin on their knees and trying not to wonder if the tea had honey in it. "It has to be. It's the rules, but it's a stupid one. When I have a Name I'm going to change it. If I get a Name."

"Why?"

"Because it's not fair," said Rajo. "Anyways what's wrong with _our_ words?"

"Nothing," said Link with a sigh, staring at his hands folded neatly in his lap. "It's a beautiful language. I'm not good at it - will you teach me better, Rajenaya? So Nabooru will understand and I don't say mean things by mistake?"

"How do you know my sister anyway? What do you need her for? So she's older and she's won honors in the war already, but I read more. Lots more. And I have m- I am good at things she's not. What could she understand that I can't? Why do you even care about our kings anyway? And why were you dying before I let your spell out?"

Silence filled a hundred heartbeats. Link remained so still that Rajo wanted very much to throw something just to break him out of whatever spell he'd fallen into.

Instead, Rajo decided to taste the tea. The Link-spirit wasn't paying attention anyways, and if it was poison, well. It might be better than trying to explain to the Rova how they not only got caught by an enemy spirit when they were supposed to be asleep, but accidentally saved it from dying. Which was probably treason.

It tasted even better than it smelled. The sweet steam coiled sluggishly into Rajo's nose as they lifted the cup, and the viscous elixir coated their tongue with the green flavor of flowering things and the richness of gentle rain summoning life from nothingness. It was almost unbearably sweet, except for the tart curl at the edge of the tongue that made them crave another sip, and another, and another after that. Warmth spread from lips to heart, and the tip of their tongue hissed in warning of _too much_ heat and the hint of something strange in the scent when they drew the steam over their tongue between tastes.

Rajo knew the sweetness at once. Whatever else the Link-spirit had boiled in with it, the heart of it must be King's Honey. Which was not honey at all, but made from the juices of the Sun's Crown alongside two other rare nectars which Rajo was most definitely not allowed to have, but tasted anyway in secret. The keepers of the storehouses made all three, but only when many Sun Crowns presented their hundred-year flowers. Then, they made lots, and the people feasted as much as summer allowed.

Even the Rova admitted the King's Honey, Milk, and Tears partook of deep and wondrous magics. The sour and sharp tastes of the latter two came second only to the fire they kindled on tongue and throat for reasons to avoid both, but coating their tongue with pure King's Honey - and not getting caught doing it - formed Rajo's earliest happy memory.

"Is this poison? Are you feeding me King's Honey so you can make a trifle out of me, just because I'm smaller than you when you wear your shining face?" Rajo blurted in a jumble of both languages at once.

Link made that weird squeaking sound again, standing suddenly. He stomped away to the shadows on the far side of the grotto, then paced from one side to the other, kicking pebbles savagely.

Rajo drank more tea. If it was poison, they were already doomed, and anyways it was a sin to waste water, and it tasted wonderful. There were worse ways to die than with King's Honey on one's tongue. They considered naming it their favorite thing, but then Rajo thought of the little cakes made with nutmeats and true honey and moon-white butter. A close second, though, certainly.

"I don't _eat people_ ," said Link, his voice thin and cracked in places. But he chose to speak in the words of the people, and the hesitant bumps were fewer. "I give you life, from the worm. I give you comfort, from the wind. I give you strong water, to make steady heart. All this - not for your help, not for trick - for _rightness_."

Rajo thought for a moment, drinking half the tea that was left. As terrible as the journey from the Lady's Quiver to the grotto had been, the Link-Spirit certainly held the ravening night wind away the entire distance.

"That's stupid," said Rajo at last. "No one does anything for just one reason. That would be wasteful."

"I don't eat people!" Link shouted. "Strong tea better sweet! Sweet is good. **_I_** am good."

When the grotto stopped vibrating with the echoes, Rajo said, "Okay."

Link blew wind through his nose like a horse and stomped back into the ring of lowering firelight, his moon-pale face reflecting all the the warm sunset colors of the glowing coals. He refused to look at Rajo, but poured himself a cup of tea and dropped gracelessly to the sandy ground as far away as possible while still sitting in the light.

"I still want to know," said Rajo carefully. "What do you want my sister for? Nabs doesn't like Hylians, so probably won't like their spirits either."

Link turned ever so slightly, one blue eye peeking from under the curtain of his fine hair. His voice carried an echo of the black wind under it, so faint Rajo mistook it for a whisper of the fire at first.

"Can you keep a secret?" Link said.

Rajo grinned, pushing to their feet to close the distance between them. The fire burned sluggishly now, painting Link's mourning clothes in all the glories of night herself, but the coals were hotter than ever. Rajo pulled off their mantle, swallowing back the nervousness and unease to drop it in a heap to sit on, right next to Link.

Link watched them refill their empty teacup in silence, his moon-pale face closed and unreadable. Rajo returned his look only when they were settled in as for the history-weavers' stories. Except with tea. Made somehow with King's Honey.

"Secrets," said Rajo. "Secrets are the best magic, and I am **_very_** good at all the best kinds of magic."


	6. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 6

Link smiled, but it was not a nice smile. Rajo didn't like how the low firelight painted shadows around his weird blue eyes. Even though his flat face was round with apparent youth, when he smiled, Rajo saw in him the silent and eternal grins of the ancestors.

"I have even better magic," said Link. "I make the sun and moon dance, and I have seen a hundred **_hundred_** tomorrows."

"You're making that up," said Rajo, before they could think better of it. "Only the wandering fire dances, and nobody can see tomorrow because it hasn't been woven yet."

Link only smiled wider. "That's the secret part. Tomorrow is yesterday is tomorrow when the sun dances, but only for me."

Rajo considered this, sipping at their tea. Spirits were powerful beyond the greatest armies and strongest Rova, and they knew amazing magics and could see bigger patterns than people could. But did the spirits have to tell the truth?

"Prove it," said Rajo.

"I can't," said Link. "The magic will make you forget."

"Does your magic work backwards? Can you make today tomorrow?"

Link bit his lip, tilting his head the way Nabs did sometimes when she was thinking about a riddle. "Your sister worries if I do. But I did sing the night slow a little, for safe, to carry you to here."

"Your shining face is tomorrow magic?" said Rajo.

"No - I sang that from the hurting one in tomorrow when the moon would fall. I learned the dancing in the first tomorrow of the bad one, when I was little, like you."

Rajo drank their tea and sat on their anger. If only they'd thought to mark the dance of the stars, they might know if it was true.

"Even if I believed you - which I don't, because that's impossible - what does that have to do with my sister?"

Link's terrible smile faltered, and he looked down at his cup. Rajo watched him play with the surface of his tea in the awkward silence, wondering why he chose this face to wear in the grotto. This face made him as short as Rajo, but smaller in every other way. They could almost forget how terrible his bright face was.

Almost.

"I will know her once. Long ago tomorrow, in a hard time," said Link. "I was her friend, but there was a badness, and bad magic, and - the bad magic hurts her. Every tomorrow, the bad magic, even though I try to tell her, it only went bad faster. So I go back, maybe I go to an older yesterday and be her friend earlier, she will understand. Maybe she will tell me how to find the badness in the before."

"Well, that's stupid," said Rajo, when Link didn't say anything else. "You talk with tangled words, and Nabs doesn't like riddles. Or Hylians. And you wear their face."

"Yeah," said Link, his shoulders bowed, a brightness gathering at the edges of his wide blue eyes. "In the tomorrow she will say jokes to the forest kid, but in the today she says… bad things. And it goes bad. Even without the bad magic."

"Which face do you wear? And which voice? When you talk to Nabs I mean?"

Link sighed, and sipped his tea absently. The silence stretched awkward and long. Rajo drank their own tea and tried to be patient, but mostly just stared at Link's strange clothes and thought of more questions.

"All of them," he said at last, quietly. "I was thinking, I wear the shape from the tomorrow I met her, she's not afraid, yeah? Except for green, can't be green anymore. But when she is not afraid, she is angry, even when I don't try to stop her."

"You should fight her," said Rajo. "When you win she'd have to listen. It's the rules."

"That only makes everything bad faster," said Link, shaking his head. "But I didn't know she would be _**so angry.**_ She wouldn't stop. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't stop, and then my words stopped working and she wouldn't stop and the bad magic didn't have her but she _**wouldn't stop**_."

Rajo didn't like the wild look in his eyes, with white showing all around the blue and the black center drawing tight like it was noon even though the grotto remained dark. Rajo didn't much like the sharp edges in his words, either.

"Okay," they said, tensing to spring away if the next thing went badly. It worked sometimes with Nabs, when she was thinking too much, but sometimes not.

Rajo reached across to touch the Link-spirit's arm. He startled, turning those wild eyes towards them, but then his shoulders sagged and he looked away again, muttering an apology.

"It's okay. Fighting's just an easy pattern, but I know lots more. You're going to need my help though, cause you're kinda stupid."

Link snorted and shook his head, but the corner of his lips pulled up in a wry grin. "Yeah, some stupid hero."

Rajo grinned back. "Not for long. But you have to trade for it. It's the rules."

"I can trade. What do you want?" said Link.

"Well, first you have to take me back to the edge of the Lady's Quiver before dawn, so I can go home before they notice. If I get in trouble, I won't help you _ever_."

"Okay, good, not lost," Link said, smiling a true smile. "That one is easy. What else?"

"You want to know Geldo things," said Rajo, sipping their tea so he wouldn't think he had advantage. "So. You tell me Hylian things. You're one of their spirits, you can't be _completely_ stupid, yeah?"

Link laughed. "Like what? You already speak the words good."

"Tell me their stories. Tell me about their magic, and tell me why they hate us so much. Tell me how they make it rain, and what they do with rupees that they need so many. Tell me what snow is like, and forests, and spring, and what a lake is. And," Rajo said, dropping to a whisper so Link had to lean close to hear. "Tell me about your magic princess."

Link frowned, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Why," he said.

"Why not?" said Rajo. "Do you belong to her? Did she send you? What's she like? Is she born with magic or did the spirits choose her? Who teaches her how to be magic if there's only ever one magic princess at a time and you have no Rova? Why don't you have Rova, anyway?"

"You talk about Rova lots. I knew some Rova in the tomorrows. Sisters," he said, and his voice had a slippery sort of darkness in it. "The ones with the moon will be strange, but the other ones will be _**bad**_."

Rajo shrugged, sitting on their anger again. He didn't know anything yet, that's all, and it wasn't fair to hit people for being stupid when it wasn't their fault. This, Rajo promised the distant stars, they would make into a rule someday.

"Our Rova protect us. They teach me sometimes, when I'm not in trouble. They know all kinds of things, and have strong magic - stronger than spirits, so don't be stupid - and they say the time of the king is coming too."

Link licked his lips like a rock cat after a lizard, and Rajo felt the night wind sink her claws into their back.

"...oops," they whispered.

"It's okay Rajenaya," Link said, but the darkness in his voice said it wasn't. "I keep secret. Trust me. Tell more. So I meet your king before the _**bad things**_ happen."

Rajo swallowed hard, trying to stay calm and pretend the Link-spirit was just a really weird horse so he wouldn't know they were afraid.

"You go first," they said. "You owe me. For your bottle-spell. And I told you secrets too. Tell me about your magic princess. Have you seen her? Does she really live in a magic forest? Can she really make it rain when she cries?"

Link frowned. "Why you want to know about her? I won't let you hurt her."

Rajo laughed, laying their hand over their heart. "I don't want to hurt her, stupid. I want to kiss her so the gods will love us too."


	7. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 7

Rajo paced along the Serpent's Spine above the dry river, dancing their topaz and ebony spindle through the last few arcs to finish this batch and settle their unquiet mind. Link would ask about their absence, and Rajo was sorry to have missed a whole week with their strange friend. But even Rajo had limits: the fortress had been thrown into chaos and the guard tripled when the raiding party had to cut the bridge on their retreat.

Escaping tonight, they'd used the twilight roads from their bedroom window all the way to the Sister Stones in one desperate sprint. Monsters nipped at their heels, and the somnolent weight of the veiled half-light dragged at every step. Even now, a candlemark and more after returning through the veils, as the night wind began to lift her steps more swiftly, the effort of reaching the grotto at all threatened to trip them.

But Rajo had to meet Link tonight, or something terrible would happen.

Rajo wound the last ell of new yarn onto their spindle and knelt on the sun-warmed rock of the Spine to pray. The wandering fire danced on in beautiful indifference, and the glittering sands reflected its mysteries in silence.

If the Lady of the Sands had any mercy, the fierce Link-spirit would accept their small offerings, and go home. Maybe forever.

Rajo would miss him - they didn't have many friends among the other children, and sometimes they weren't sure they really had any. Not that Rajo could blame the others really. They were too much of everything - too tall, too clumsy, too serious, too curious, too different, and too favored by the Rova to be included in games and jokes and the little secrets everyone else whispered about between lessons. Usually they didn't mind - they had lots of magic, and the others didn't. No one could have everything, and if they could have picked, they'd have chosen the magic anyway.

The people needed strong magic much more than they needed fun.

Still. It was nice to laugh, and watch the stars in company, and trade stories about things besides training and war and raids and ill winds, even if Link was still embarrassingly stupid about everything important.

" _ **Night is dangerous for little girls** **,**_ " said a voice like the black wind. " _ **Are you lost?**_ "

"Din's fire but do you _**never**_ learn _**anything**_?" Rajo said, pushing to their feet and picking up their heavy spindle.

" _ **Rajo-!**_ " cried the black wind, and then the light of high noon leapt from the darkness and wrapped Rajo in a smothering embrace.

Rajo counted ten, and then twenty, and tried to be patient, thanking the gods that no one else was out here to witness the indignity of being danced about like a toddling little just rescued from a fall.

" _ **I worried - and the monsters are worse - and the sun danced and you still didn't come and there were more monsters and I went to the Quiver-place and you didn't come and the sun danced and you didn't come and the fortress-**_ "

"Yeah, I know, I saw you on the dunes." Rajo grumped, as Link swung them up onto their shoulder and set off towards the grotto with long strides. "You can't _**do**_ that, Link, showing your shining face around other people like that. People do stupid things when you scare them."

" _ **Why didn't you come, Rajenaya? You said you had a magic road, but you didn't come and the monsters are swarming and the bridge is broken already but it's not supposed to break yet and there are soldiers and everything is wrong. I had to look for you, I had to. I can't let the bad magic get you too.**_ "

"Maybe it breaks more than you thought, when you're away dancing or whatever," said Rajo, looking out over the desert and trying not to think about the terrible light pouring off the spiraling sword in the Link-spirit's left hand. "Anyways, did you make tea?"

" _ **Not yet, but I have a secret for you! I had it days ago, but you didn't come and the monsters-**_ "

"I'm here now," said Rajo, cutting him off before he could fall back into that spell that twisted his mind into loops. "And you used the wrong word again. You mean surprise, not secret."

" _ **Not the same?**_ " said Link, though his innocent confusion delivered in such terrible voice made Rajo's throat try to close.

"A surprise is a secret, but only for a little while, and you share it later, and make it not a secret anymore. Secrets stay secret."

" _ **But secrets make you happy, and I like you to be happy. Happy is good. I am good. Do surprises make you happy?**_ "

"Depends. Sometimes surprises are only fun for the ones who know about it before."

" _ **This will be good surprise,**_ " said Link, and no one sane would have argued.

Rajo waited in the lee of the boulder as the Link-spirit moved the thornbrush and silverleaf aside from the grotto entrance. Wearing his shining face, he stood much taller than Rajo, but so did any other grownup. His noon-bright armor made him seem larger though, and he wielded his enormous shining sword with the ease of a dancer weaving patterns with a fire reed. Thorns that would shred mortal skin seemed to bend away from him as he shifted their branches - and the wind never rose above a whisper when he walked abroad with his hollow starlight eyes.

Rajo held their shoulders back and chin high as they entered the grotto. Especially now, Link must be reminded that the people were strong, and proud, and unmoved by such minor wonders. The people stood between the spirits and the material world, and even a young and lonely warrior spirit could not be allowed to think himself above the oldest of laws, laid down by the Three at the dawn of the world.

Neither God nor spirit may hinder the free will of the people, nor command anything of them without they open themselves to the chance of their own destruction.

Rajo strode through the gathered smoke winding towards the entrance, resisting the cold thrill of fear climbing their spine as their own shadow stretched out before them. Two steps, four, six, and still Link followed in his warrior form.

"Hey," said Rajo without looking back. "You're forgetting stuff again."

Link voiced a wordless query, catching up in three long steps. The hair on Rajo's neck rose despite the warmth radiating from the banked fire laid as always within a neat ring of stones at the center of the grotto. They hated to be reminded how easily the mad warrior spirit could snap them up like a wild beast. Rajo did not want to find out if the Rova's go-away-ghost spell was strong enough for foreign warrior spirits.

"Your face, Link."

" _ **It's good, yeah?**_ " Link said with a laugh like the rattle of shale before a hungry quicksilver flood from the highlands. " _ **I keep you safe Rajenaya, no worries, no monsters. Good secrets for you, inside. Surprises. Go look!**_ "

"I'm not worried," said Rajo with a shrug, circling around the fire without looking back. The back of the grotto held fully half the comforts of home after hosting them all winter - but now dozens more heavy amphorae and sealed crocks in bright salt glaze splendor stood in neat rows along the curve of back wall. The vast knotted rug of many-colored twisthorn wool was cluttered with more crocks and cushions and upside down silver bowls and whatever lumpy thing Link had hidden under a twice-fulled cloak of sun's heart purple. "It's just too bright, and you'll steal the rest of the rug if you stay tall, and your sword is noisy."

" _ **No,**_ " said Link, planting his boots with a dramatic flair. " _ **I am good. I keep away monsters.**_ "

Rajo sighed as they sank into their favorite cushion, grinding the heel of their palm into their aching eyes. "Yeah. You did good. You chased all the other monsters off, you can put your sword away now."

" _ **Other?**_ " The sword howled as Link crossed the grotto, stepping right through the fire to drop into guard over Rajo. " _ **Where Rajenaya? Which way? Stay close - I get the monster.**_ "

Rajo buried their face in their hands and cursed their clumsy tongue. The moment they heard the rumor about a bright spirit pacing the horizon, they knew Link had lost whatever quiet he'd gained over the winter. And now? As soon as he puzzled through Rajo's slip, he would be angry.

"At least put your sword away - I've got stuff to tell you and I can't think with the noise."

" _ **Not safe till I get the monster - I don't see it - which way Rajo?**_ " Link demanded they answer, whirling in place so the terrible sword screamed and flared, filling the grotto with its searing light.

"Link, please. That face _**is**_ a monster."

" _ **Don't be scared. It helps me protect you, Rajenaya,**_ " he said, lowering his voice so it only made the grotto tremble instead of shake.

"Well don't," said Rajo. "I don't like it."

That got his attention at last, though they burned with shame to dance so close to admitting weakness and need. A dozen heartbeats hammered against their ribs as the light flared enormously, making fire dance behind their closed eyes, and then Link was kneeling beside Rajo and wrapping his thin arms around their shoulders. He smelled of silverleaf and woodsmoke and damp wool, but most important of all, he'd put away his shining face and the spiral sword with it.

"You smell like horses," he said after a moment, somewhat muffled by the fact he'd buried his weird little nose in Rajo's mantle.

"Yeah," said Rajo. "That's one of the things I came to tell you. I won't be able to come here anymore. The raid went badly, so we have to leave early this year."

"Well they shouldn't steal anyway. Stealing is bad. Unless you're stealing from a stealer. Or to save people," said Link, trailing off, but he caught himself before he fell into the mind loops again. "But it's ok - I can follow-"

"No, you can't. The sand sea fortresses have to stay secret, Link. What if the Hylian generals call you? If you knew where the ilmaha hid, you'd have to lie."

"No -" Link tightened his grip. "I follow to keep the monsters and bad magic away - I'm your friend."

"If Nabs or anyone else sees you I won't be able to reach you before they do, and maybe not even after. If you even _**have**_ another bottle spell. And I won't be your friend anymore if you use that sword on any of my sisters."

Link recoiled, releasing them suddenly with a wordless cry of denial. Rajo sighed, pushing back the cowl of their wrapped heavy mantle and trying to recover a semblance of dignity. This was not going _**anything**_ like the plan.

"We'll be back next year, probably. The Rova said I-"

"Your earrings," said Link, his voice flat. "They're different."

Rajo smiled, touching the central topaz cabochon on their wrought silver triangles reflexively. It ached a little, mostly because Nabs had made new holes above them so Rajo could wear both their hoops and their year-gifts at once. But it was a good kind of ache, and they were proud to wear something so fine. It made them feel older too, especially with the companion pectoral of faceted topaz wrapped in silver vines, strung along with tiny silver round bells between.

Link wasn't smiling when he reached out to trace a fingertip over the fine sculpted setting and gleaming stones of the near one - but he didn't have any jewels of his own at all. Yet.

Rajo laughed at their friend's grave face, prodding his shoulder with their spindle. "Well? Aren't they pretty? Do you like them?"

"Oh. Yes, very shiny." Link pulled his hand back, petting the soft wool on the spindle automatically. He liked the heavy, strong, lumpy yarn Rajo made, even if no one else did. He tilted his head like he was listening to the chatter of the fire, but his blue eyes wandered. "The stones match your eyes. Where'd they come from, Rajenaya? They almost look-"

"Hylian? They are! All the way from Castletown, just for me. They're not magic, but they look like they _**could**_ be. Nabooru gave them to me early, because she's not guarding the ilmaha this year either. It's not her fault we need so many sword-sworn on the border, but it's always nice to get more sun gems. They're my favorite."

Now Link smiled, shaking his head like he was shooing away a fly. "My surprises are not so fancy. Some is gold - or at least _**looks**_ gold. But if you'd rather have-"

"Wait," said Rajo, stopping him with a curt gesture. "You're _**really**_ terrible at being a spirit, you know. You're the one who is supposed to accept gifts, and trade for magic and stuff."

Link frowned, his pale hair falling in his eyes as he mumbled, "I bring you things you like, I make you happy. Then you be my friend, and tell me how to be Nabooru's friend, and then I make the bad magic go away and no more bad things and no more monsters and-"

"Hey. It's ok, you're kinda new to being a spirit right? Well that's kindof like being ilmaha, and even I don't know close to half of all there is to know. And you don't even have a teacher."

Link brightened, accepting Rajo's offered spindle automatically. "I go with you, learn from your teachers, yeah? I can dress up-"

"Don't be stupid. Even with a magic face you won't fool anyone with spirit eyes. I'd teach you more but-"

Link's eyes flared wide, anticipating already what must follow such a word. "No-"

"The Rova said I will be in a different division again, so I don't know when I'll have a chance to use the twi- the magic to get here, even when we come back. They might be more strict or I might get assigned one of the inside rooms." Rajo hurried through their speech, twisting to unwind their mantle and free the offerings they carried. "You can't bring your shining face around people though, especially not with the enemy trying to cross the canyon. So - it's time to go home, Link. I brought you things to help."

Link sat back, cradling the heavy spindle like it was a kitten, and biting his lip. Rajo unwrapped each thing in turn, laying them before their strange friend in a tidy arc. A blank ledger bound in green-brown leather. Tiny bottles of char-black ink and a leather tube of sharpened roc feather quills in case Link didn't know how to shape nibs on his own, and a pair of scribes' brushes stolen from the storehouse. A stack of battered primers for learning Hylian - another for even younger students learning to write at all. Link didn't need to learn Hylian letters, but Rajo thought maybe he could use them backwards, to learn Geldo script.

Rajo wasn't certain what the spirits thought of offerings which were stolen before they became offerings, but it must be better than what they thought of matters woven the other way around.

A roll of maps - not of the sand sea, that would be treason - but the canyon, and a little beyond on the other side, and one painting of the world coiled around the mother of sands. Rupees - just tiny shards of blues and greens that nobody would think to miss, but spilled out over Rajo's spread mantle they shone like an oasis. A priceless curved flask filled with shining holy waters stolen from the Rovas' overflowing workrooms. The label claimed it was harvested in the Lost Woods. Half of it had been used already, the rest forgotten.

A waxed parcel of layered honey and nutmeat cakes stolen from Nabooru herself. A tarnished copper torque fashioned to look like a snake, though it's eyes had fallen out. Rajo had scrubbed it clean of clinging lime and rust, glueing bright seeds in where gems used to brighten it. Hunting arrows, fletched with shining blue-green duck feathers. A braid of creamy combed wool dyed in oasis and twilight colors. A weaver's spindle, carved of buttery golden thornwood, made with hooks carved right into the shaft at both ends and crosspieces so perfectly fitted it didn't even need oil. Those last, Rajo stole from the dead, but it wasn't much of a triumph as the ghosts wanted them to take both to some fairy-boy.

Whatever that meant.

Of their own treasures - a book of legends, compiled generations ago in their own language and full of mysterious, complicated pictures which never seemed to show everything at the same time. A carved white marble cat no bigger than the cup of their palm, meant to protect and soothe. Another book, written all in tiny, perfect scribe's hand, with no pictures at all and only the sign of the people surmounted by the sun crown carved into its cover. Which might be treason to give a foreign spirit, but maybe not. Anyways it would take him almost forever to translate.

And to all this they added a final parcel wrapped in faded sky cloth, daring greatly to lay the small but heavy bundle directly on Link's knees.

His eyes were huge and shining, fixed on Rajo instead of any of the offerings at all. The red light from the banked fire threw a sinister cast over his moon-pale face and tight dawn-gray underclothing. His ill-fitting mourning tunic of sun's heart purple looked almost black - less terrible than his noon-bright warrior garb but only just. Rajo wondered again if his friend was a death-spirit or just a powerful, mad ghost.

"Well, open it," Rajo said.

"I don't want shiny things, Rajenaya, I want-"

"Yeah, I know. But I have to stay with my people, and you have to go home. I won't be able to trade stories anymore, but maybe these things will help you fight whatever bad magic it is you're bound to. When I get a Name and stronger magic, maybe I can trade better things, but you have to promise to stay away until then, ok?"

Link frowned, touching the parcel on his knees hesitantly. "When is then?"

"I don't know yet. Go on, open it. They will make you happy, so you can go home."

"Always sent away," Link muttered darkly as he laid Rajo's spindle aside, picking at the lumpy yarn tying the bundle closed. "Go away hero, no work for you, don't belong."

Rajo sighed, holding out their hands. "Then give it back if you don't want it."

Link thrust his pointed jaw forward and set to untangling the knot in earnest. His curiosity was as bad as Rajo's, maybe worse. They'd struggled to distract him all winter with puzzles and riddles and legends, but he never forgot Rajo's slip about the coming of the king. Every night they met, he returned to that thread with singleminded greed.

Rajo hoped the books would take him a long time to translate. Maybe forever. They were full of riddles, half of which even Rajo hadn't solved. Was it treason to give him legends if he didn't understand them? What if he gave them to the Hylians? Surely none of them bothered to learn Geldo letters, but what if they decided Link was a bad spirit for having them?

"Oh," said Link, his blue eyes wide and his lower lip trembling. He stared at the jewels in his lap, touching each of the green garnets set in enameled gold like he was afraid they weren't real.

"Do you like them? They're not scary snakes, see the pattern of the scales? These are good ones, they eat scorpions and even little mice. We let them live in the storehouse, but sometimes you have to catch them and put them in baskets when the raids are coming back, so they don't get squished. They don't really have green eyes, and they're not stupid enough to eat rocks, but I think it's pretty."

"Where are these from? Did you - you stole these, didn't you?"

"It's not really stealing, and anyways he won't mind," said Rajo with a snort. They picked up one of the bracelets and wound it around Link's thin wrist. It was loose - but that was ok. This way, it wouldn't break when he put on his real face. "There, see? Now you have green to wear."

"He," said Link, and his voice cracked when he said it. "You _**stole**_ from the _**king**_ -"

"It's not stealing if no one is using it, and anyways he'll have lots of other jewels to wear someday, more than even a giant could put on all at once." Rajo leaned over to drape the heavy pectoral around his neck, fastening it at the shoulder as Link stared right through them.

"Rajenaya -" Link began, belatedly reaching up to stop them. But he didn't seem to understand how the clasps worked. All he really did was knock it sideways so it hung over his shoulder and looked silly instead of fine.

"It's ok. You need it more anyway. These stones - they are for a special kind of magic, to bring good things. They will help you fight the bad magic, and now you don't have to be sad about losing the green things you had before, because these are better."

"No-" said Link, pushing their hands away as Rajo tried to figure out how to fasten the hair ornaments on without braids to clasp. "Can't be green anymore, have to fix it first, you have to give it back before he gets mad, Rajenaya. Before _**bad things**_ happen. Or tell me where it goes, so you can run away and be safe. I will fix it. Just tell me where he is, so he can't hurt anyone-"

Rajo set their jaw and wound more bracelets on Link's other wrist. "The king's treasure is only called that because he's the reason we make it, and he will use it, but he belongs to us, so everything he owns is ours, really. And _**I**_ say you need green more, so you won't hurt the people by mistake when you're just trying to fight the bad magic. Giving you new, fancy green to wear in place of the green you lost will make you happy and protect the people. It was just resting with the king's treasure until I could get it for you."

Link made a wordless sound of muffled protest, and the brightness in his eyes spilled over his moon-pale cheeks, gleaming in the lurid red firelight. He hiccuped with a squeak like a sorrowing little, and brought his fist to his lips, biting into his own knuckle as if to silence the small keening sound rising from his throat. A sound like when Rajo found him dying under the wreckage of the fallen target board.

Rajo felt their heart skip a beat, but not in the way it did when they were afraid. They rose up on their knees and pulled Link into their arms, tucking his fair head under their chin the way Nabs used to comfort them when they were smaller. Link sobbed into their mantle, shaking and broken, as far removed from the noon-bright warrior as it was possible to be.

"There isn't a king yet, Link. So he can't mind. And you're my friend."


	8. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 8

Rajo sprawled across the thickly knotted twisthorn wool rug, watching light and shadow twist across the ceiling of the grotto. The dull red cast by the coals beside them wound in silent beauty with the cold blue of moonlight reflecting off the seep at the back of the grotto, light and careless. A beautiful dance, even without magic in it.

Dangerous though, for sleep already nibbled at the edges of their mind. The beauty of light and shadow above them, the sibilant night around them, and the comfort of good wool beneath them wove a powerful temptation. More than ever, Rajo wanted to know if its promise held truth - if they did surrender out here, would they be free of dreams? If they dared, would Link keep his promise to protect them? To return them home before dawn?

Would they sleep the way other ilmaha did, mind quiet and body at ease for six or even seven marks together?

Rajo knew it would be safer to sit up, better still to stand, and shake off the weakness drawing them towards the comforting shadows. But - they ached from the long run to the dry river and too many sweets afterwards.

Link always had food with him, and shared almost aggressively - but tonight they both indulged to the point of pain. He'd piled up more food than Rajo's entire division saw in a week, far more than could be eaten, all of it rich luxuries. Cakes and cheese, honey and preserves, bread so soft it dimpled when you touched it, and fruit so lush the sweet juice ran from their lips with every bite.

Whatever Hylian temple fed the Link-spirit must be impossibly wealthy - or desperate to keep him appeased.

Rajo fought to keep their eyes open. Sleep pulled at their limbs like trap sand, and they bit down on the inside of their cheek to restore their anchor. They could sleep in the saddle, maybe. If they got one of the older horses. They were too big to ride with the avadha like the rest of the division, which usually made them feel proud. But after the strain of the run and the Link-spirit's distress and the rich food, Rajo craved rest like it was water.

How many marks until dawn?

"Why did the war start? Who struck first? When?" Rajo asked, when the sting started to ebb.

"I told you," said Link with a sigh. "I don't know. Everyone tells different stories, even the fairies."

"What makes fairies different from people and spirits? Where do they come from? Why aren't there any in our country?"

"I don't know. They're just... there. And you do have one," he began, trailing off the way he did when he was staring at things only he could see.

"Just one? Where? Can you show me? Why does Hyrule have lots? Is it because of the magic princess?"

"Dunno. Probably not," said Link, in the tone everyone got eventually when Rajo asked questions.

But. They couldn't afford to let weakness win. And it might be years before they could summon the Link-spirit safely. "Who does know? The fairies? Will you show me where ours lives? Teach me the magic to see them?"

"It's not a magic, Rajenaya. The bottle wasn't a magic either," Link groaned, and rolled onto his side, cradling his stomach. "The fairy place is too dangerous. There's bad things out there. Anyways she's hiding from bad magic."

"If it's not magic, what is it? How does it work? Do you have to be a spirit to talk to fairies?"

Link groaned again, burying his face in the rug. "Fairies just are.. I don't know the other stuff - don't want to talk about it."

Rajo muttered some of Nabs favorite words, but it didn't help. Link would never answer many questions about fairies or the forest - and not many more about the Princess either.

"Okay," Rajo said. "Tell me about Hylians then. Why are their books all wrong? Why do they all live in different buildings? Do they not like each other either?"

Silence.

Rajo waited as long as possible, counting breaths and biting their tongue to stay awake. Still nothing but the soft hissing of the coals and the tiny chime of Link's new jewels when he shifted. They rolled over to face him even though it hurt. Link still had his face pressed into the rug, curled around one of the worn cushions he'd brought to furnish their strange secret place. His breathing was slow and shallow.

Rajo frowned. That wasn't right at all. He looked small and fragile, pale as sun-scoured bones, though without his shining face they were of a size.

"Link, come on. We have to go home soon - just one more story?"

Silence.

Rajo groaned, pulling themselves close enough to touch his arm - maybe the magic had his mind looping again. He wouldn't say much about the bad magic either, but Rajo teased out parts of that puzzle anyway. It drove him in everything he did, binding and hurting him, though he only ever spoke of it touching others. But that was probably part of the curse - all the more reason for him to have the healing stones.

Link didn't react when they touched his arm, or shook his shoulder. His breathing was very slow now, and suddenly Rajo felt afraid they imagined it. Like when the long fever claimed Angnu, and they thought she was asleep but she wasn't, and the division master said Rajo made it happen because alone of the ilmaha they never coughed, not once. They had broken the rules, but only to bring sweets to Angnu because she said her throat hurt all the time and King's Honey always made theirs feel better in the dry times, and they didn't mean to fall asleep, but they were trying to tell her about all the lessons she'd missed without the healer overhearing. It was an accident.

Rajo brushed aside the fine disheveled hair to touch Link's pale cheek. They swallowed their rising fear at how cold he felt - he was a spirit, so maybe it didn't mean anything at all. A flood of pink light bloomed over them and washed the grotto away.

Rajo didn't feel heavy anymore - but they couldn't see - they scrambled to their feet, trying to shout. Silence - but when they opened their mouth shadow poured out, forming into a circle of stone columns in the glittering rose light, rising from a shallow pool of bright waters.

Was this the place Link went when his eyes went dark? It was strange, but not so terrible - Rajo walked into the water, pleased to find it cool and still and perfectly clear. Motes of pink and gold light rose from the water when they cupped it in their hands to taste it - ice cold and pure, without any taste at all. Laughter - they turned, and an enormous woman made all of light and flowers bent over them. She was beautiful, and warm, and kind. Rajo reached for her, aching for her offered embrace.

She shattered at their touch with a hideous keening wail.

Rajo stumbled, winged shards of the light-woman falling all around them. They tried to catch her at first, but she slipped through their fingers, crying, flinging herselves from the water, only to fall back again. Her wings were too small, and her brokenness, her sorrow changed her. She reminded them of Nabs, after her first season away, when she locked the door and Rajo had to sneak in through the window to find her sick with majir.

They tried to remember which of the cures worked, wading back to the distant shore - how had they gotten so far away from it? Rajo didn't remember walking that far. At least the bottom was smooth, fine sand, and the water only came just above their knees. The division masters would be mad about the extra laundry, but that was fine. They just had to fetch one of the jars of blue jelly from Link's grotto. That would help, certainly. Or at least it wouldn't hurt her worse, and maybe help her tell them what she really needed.

Rajo grabbed a branch at the edge of the pool for leverage to climb back out, and screamed when it wailed and drew back. The shadows ate their voice, but the horror of the twisted, tortured thing grew only more vivid. They tried to tell themselves it was only a tree. An ugly one, surely, but the face wasn't real. Just an unfortunate pattern in its bark and knots.

They turned to find a different path to shore, and saw the statue.

Except it wasn't a statue at all, it was somehow horribly alive. Suffering. Angry.

Rajo turned again, and again, and again, stumbling in the shallow water until they were soaked through and the wool pulled them down and tripped them worse. Everywhere, faces in the dark, suffering and distorted. Forest people and river people, plains people and town people, mountain people and lake people. Every kind of people but Geldo circled around them, trapping them with their hollow eyes and outstretched hands.

 _Why didn't you save **me**_ they said.

Rajo ran.

Rajo fell, and the water tasted foul on their tongue. They tried to curse despite the silence ensnaring their tongue, trying to rise. Yet their hands found fabric and flesh underneath them instead of sand, and they knew her without needing to pull the veil from her face. Nabooru's body shimmered with the residue of terrible magic, and her blood coiled through the water like incense smoke bearing prayers to the gods.

Rajo stood, furious, ripping their dragging mantle away. They would not fall among these lost, weak souls. They had magic. They knew the old laws. The golden gods said the people were to be free.

Rajo howled defiance at the spirits, calling for the wandering fire. Even though the shadow ate their voice, the fire came to their hand, wrapping them in light and warmth though they were soaked to the skin. The shards of the light woman raced and crashed around them, weaving a perilously thin barrier between them and the terrible figures in the darkness.

Lightning split the world, blue and yellow and pink, racing ahead of storm clouds from the west. Rajo knew it was west, because the storm howled like the black wind off the sand sea, but the clouds boiling above them were heavy with the promise of rain. The rolling thunder drummed around them and a great figure of a horse and rider took shape on the distant horizon. Rajo shaped a globe of light from the wandering fire, lofting it into the air above their shoulder to chase back the darkness and drew their short blade.

The rider arrowed toward them at a flat run, bent low over the great stallion's proud neck. Both were dark as the storm, wrapped in the sacred pattern of the gods' teeth and finely made armor. Rajo raised their blade in warning - the rider laughed, racing right past them like the horse-warriors wove through barrels on the training fields, his short fire-red hair lifted by the wind.

Rajo spun to follow him as he turned his mount and drew up on a low rise to the east, lit by the lightning and the glow of the coals in the grotto on the other side of the hill. The king smiled at him, raising his fist in salute, lightning sparking from his snake crown and the sun gems at his throat.

Harsh purple light bloomed behind them - Rajo turned, blade held ready, knowing already it was futile. The sheikah warrior-Mage advanced with menacing step, their red eyes sharp and unwavering. Chains of light and shadow draped over the sheikah like a fine shawl, and they held a bloody sword by its middle. They thrust the dripping handle at Rajo, saying only, You have no choice. You must.

Rajo struck, sending the wandering fire from their own curved blade with a shout that echoed painfully loud in their own ears. The sheikah vanished in a cloud of smoke that made them cough. The rain broke over them, driving back smoke and mist - but Rajo wished it didn't.

The lovely pool of light was gone, and blood poured from grotesque mouths set into horrible froglike faces trapped in the slimy walls. Hands rose from the gore at their feet, pulling at the rags of their clothing, crying with many voices.

 _Blood and greed, blood and greed_ , they said.

 _Why didn't you save **me**_ they said.

Rajo ran.

The storm whirled around them, and thunder shook the bones of the earth beneath. They let the hands tear their ragged clothing and kept running through the consuming corridors, around corners, climbing endless stairs, scrambling over broken stones.

At last they broke into the open, surrounded by the blessed wind of the Storm King and the patter of a softer rain. A Hylian woman with lapis eyes waited for them, draped in noon-white and primrose and the shining purple of fifty rupee gems. She held out her hand, but the ground split open and a great monster crawled out of the fissure. It bore the tusks and feet of a boar, the tail and teeth of a lion, and the horns of a ram. It stood upright like a human, eyes glowing with madness and pain. It wore ragged lengths of sacred cloth woven with the gods' teeth, and Rajo understood at once the battle rippling through its shifting flesh. This was in the Rovas' books, warnings about failed magics and clumsy summonings and inferior vessels offered by foolish sages and sorcerers.

The human under the beast denied the demon's claim - refused it's touch on their soul, warping and weakening the demon's magic. Blasphemy - but the gods did not strike the demon down for violating the oldest laws. Rajo looked to the bright woman, and she nodded, raising her bow made of golden light.

Rajo raised their small blade, knowing even their greatest magic, the magic of all the Rova ever wouldn't be enough to fight a power that broke the laws of the golden gods and still lived. But the beautiful Hylian woman was right - they had to try.

The wandering fire coiled around them, veiling the woman and the beast from their sight, washing the world in red and gold. Rajo willed the magic to answer their need, desperately wishing they had the Rovas' power too.

A bell-like voice and blue-pink lights burning them through the veil of the wandering fire: _You don't belong here._

Someone screamed.

This time, it wasn't Rajo, but someone both terribly little and dreadfully ancient. They screamed and screamed, and as they screamed the shadows rose to eat the wandering fire, and then Rajo.

\- o - O - o -

Rajo woke all at once wrapped in smothering warmth with the touch of an icy hand on their brow. The grotto shimmered with golden light from nowhere and everywhere at once, gilding the Link-spirit like a holy icon. He bit his lip, drawing his hand back so the tiny bells in his jewelry chimed soft and sweet.

"You ok now, yeah?"

"Yeah," lied Rajo, pulling up a corner of the heavy cloak to rub the gunk out of their eyes. "How long?"

"I fix it," said Link, twisting his hands in his lap. "I take you to morning and quiver place when you want."

"You mean it's too late, and you'll make me forget."

Link looked away. "I fix it."

"Yeah," said Rajo, shivering, suddenly glad of the warm wool Link had wrapped around them. That was real. "I saw things. Why?"

"Don't know," said Link, looking at Rajo sideways. "You talked in your sleeping."

"Yeah, well, you screamed," countered Rajo.

Link hung his head. "Sorry."

"Is it fate when a spirit dreams? How do I stop it?"

Link turned, his blue eyes wide and dark as forever. "What did you see?"

"My sister," said Rajo.

"I fix it. She's my friend, like you. I just have to-"

"I know, the bad magic. What does it mean? The monsters and the magic princess - why did I see you dream them?"

Link pressed his lips tight together, but his silence roared in Rajo's ears.

"Do you have my Name?"

Link sighed. "Of course, I didn't forget. You're Rajenaya il-"

"No, my Real Name. Is that what you dreamed? Which part is my Name?"

"I don't know," said Link, angry now. "I don't understand. It's over, but I keep dreaming, so I fix it, but still dreaming, and everyone was gone, and I tried to go back to the tomorrow after the tower, but it hurts and then it's the tomorrow the forest closed again. So I went away, but they sent me home but I can't go home till I fix it and-"

Rajo touched Link's knee to help him stop, offering a thin smile. They were so tired, but this was important. "Does your magic princess know about dreams?"

Link's smile bloomed radiant and true. "She is wise even in the before. She knows lots of things-"

"Take me to her," said Rajo, struggling to sit up.

Link bit his lip. "I can't - very dangerous - and far. Your sister worries if I try, and bad things."

Rajo groaned, and Link caught their hand with a secret smile.

"You write Hylian, yeah?"

"Of course, stupid. Everyone does."

"If you write a letter," he said, "I can take it even where the sun dances."


	9. Stars, Hide Your Fires : 9 : T - 9

Winter dug its talons into the bedrock of the land, defying the circuit of the sun. The river wallowed low in its jagged bed, bereft, for the highlands snowmelt which refused to come.

A curious observer blessed with the patience of the enduring stones might notice how the wind pushed shadows ahead of it at dusk, stirring the parched dust in strange patterns.

A wise one might begin to count the patrols guarding the border fortress, and consider the consistent habits of the warriors making use of the training grounds and target range even on the worst of days.

It would need a brave one to note the fierce aspect of the woman opening the gate at sunset.

In height and complexion and her crown of red hair, she was like her sisters. Yet no eye could regard her without marking the lizalfos skull she wore for a helm, nor the wrought steel scales guarding her from neck to knee. She moved not with the lithe grace of her sisters, but the inevitability of night, her curl-toed boots sinking into the churned up dirt of the road with every step.

She grounded the curved tip of her char-black sword and barked some terse command. Archers stepped to their places at the top of the tapered earth-brown walls, half a hundred steel arrowheads flashing in the wan sunset.

The wind held its breath, and the great sprawling fortress gave forth a single horse and rider. The young stallion preened, lifting his feet and making a show of his coffee-and-charcoal beauty. He was all leg and pride, standing over twenty hands tall, making his bundled rider seem even smaller.

The woman at the gate curled her lip at the rider, though her own cream-white mantle bore the same sky-blue and fire-orange toothed pattern as the rider's enveloping cloak.

"We have might enough and magic enough," she said. Her voice carried, deep and harsh, trained to be heard at distance and over chaos.

A careful ear lurking near enough might hear a quiet drawl answer, pitched as low as a young voice could manage.

"Then we will field more than enough, and let the rocs feast on Ithem/I this year."

"The night is dangerous, my prince," she said.

"I am more dangerous, Exalted."

The rider did not wait for her answer, turning away and giving the stallion leave to run.

Run he did, weaving from one ridge to another over the desolate landscape. Ravenous moldorm swallowed their trail almost as soon as they laid it, bickering with cursed peahats for right of first blood. Opportunistic rocs drifted in their wake, picking off vermin wounded in the pursuit.

A casual observer, one unfamiliar with the place and the people, might be forgiven for assuming horse and rider fled their pursuers.

A close one, never.

They made a fine picture, racing up to the undulating limestone ridge known as the Serpent's Spine, black-clad rider crouched so low over the stallion's crested neck they would have vanished from sight but for the banner of their bright cloak streaming behind. Three long strides up the stone slope, they turned. The rider raised their fist in the air as the stallion kicked out at one ambitious moldorm.

The rest perished in the crashing lightning the rider called upon them, swallowed by the charred earth below.

They stood a long moment afterwards, silent and still as the wind tiptoed around them. The sun tipped farther under the shimmering horizon, throwing its red light across land and sky. A single surviving roc banked sharply, winging back towards easier prey among the silverbrush and ironroot of the eastern plateau.

The rider pulled their cowl forward, turning the stallion once more north and west.

The dry river dripped with shadow and frozen mist, silent and treacherous. Hundreds of leagues north, a single insignificant mountain stream broke free of its winter cage, pouring through deadfall and rimed stones to restore a shallow pool below.

A column of black smoke feathered across the bloody desert sunset, redolent with the fragrance of cedar and silverleaf. Hours later, the wind would carry stray threads of it as far as the border fortress, troubling a sleepless raid captain. She would summon her three best scouts, slipping over the wall to avoid an argument with the Exalted.

They would be the first to notice the dead quiet and the tremor from the north. The raid captain would run.

Spiders fled their nests in the ruined grotto, hissing and clicking impotent protest. All but one, malformed and gilded like her horde of trash. She crouched over it, blind to the light that warned off her fellows. She twisted, caressing her treasure with her distorted limbs: cracked amphorae and dusty jars, half-buried by creeping sand and muck driven into the grotto by forgotten spring floods. Glittering fragments of cheap green glass and chipped rupees of no use to anyone but her. She muttered at the voice intruding on her miserable solitude, reassuring herself that it had not stolen from her yet, grinding her teeth, ready to strike if the fool dared.

Had she been able to see the prince, she might have chosen her life over her treasure, but gold has a habit of twisting wicked hearts. Half hidden by the shadows, his lips twisted, and her fate came to her in a flash of lightning called through the very rock of the grotto. Her spirit lingered, mourning or angry, no one ever recorded which. The prince lifted his sharp golden eyes from the wreckage, pushing back the cowl of his bright cloak.

The sand boiled, rushing away from the center of the grotto to reveal a heap of forgotten cedar firewood, preserved in its burial and eager for the spark he called to it with a single word. The prince regarded the fire much as it regarded him, each wrapped in their own concerns. His oiled curls draped over his high collar, heavy with gold ornaments woven into hundreds of tiny braids scattered throughout. Yet the opulence of his dress only underscored his coltish, sharp-edged youth.

"I have work for you," he said to the empty grotto.

The grotto listened, keeping its secrets.

"You wanted to meet the king, didn't you?"

Blue light flared over the frozen seep behind the prince. He did not turn, but a watchful eye might have caught the ghost of a smile on wide lips.

"You came," said a voice from the blue light, high and young.

"Don't be stupid," said the prince. "You wrapped her letter in yours, didn't you?"

"You have to tell me, before it's too late," said the boy in the oversized purple tunic, stepping from the circle of blue light with a worried look. He stood a full head shorter than the prince, as pale as the other was brown. "Everyone is doing bad things, and she is dreaming the storm again."

The prince turned, flipping his cloak over one broad shoulder and lifting his chin with pride. The firelight poured around him, flashing on dozens of bright topaz and gold ornaments strewn over his fitted night-black and earth-brown leathers.

The boy and the prince stared at one another in the silence.

"Green suits you," said the prince. "You will bring us wealth - and victory."

"You lied," said the fair-haired boy, blue eyes bright with unshed tears.

"It was true enough when I said it," said the prince with a shrug. "I'm not king yet. But I will be."

"You do bad things, Ganondorf," said the boy, pulling a mask from behind his back when the prince looked away.

"It's not bad when you're stealing from a stealer. Or to save people," said the prince, folding his arms over his thin chest. "Anyways, Hyrule does worse things - and the gods don't care anyway."

"Don't look," the boy said, bowing his head over the painted mask. The stones echoed with his screams as the magic unravelled and rewove him to its will.

Ganondorf waited, jaw tight. When the magic ebbed, he said only, "We'll fix it, Link."

" _ **Yes,**_ " said the white-clad warrior spirit, lifting his twisted sword. It rang light a hundred silver bells, echoing in the close confines of the grotto. " _ **It is good as done.**_ "

Ganondorf nodded, offering his hand to the other. "Time to be a hero."

The cry of the boy-warrior-spirit echoed down the dry river, unheard.

Twilight fell in silence, and the wind lay down her knives.


	10. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 1 : T-14

A young roc muttered to his sleeping mate, keeping one red eye on the little groundling walking below. It sang - badly, in the roc's opinion - and did incomprehensible things with a weirdly shaped stick as it climbed toward the box canyon to the northeast. It didn't look toward the rocs' nest, or raise shining pain-sticks into the air, but groundlings were never to be trusted.

The wind wasn't good - thin with twilight, and going the wrong way to drive it safely out of his territory. Anyways the groundling moved oddly, for it had emerged from the shadows below his nest without any warning at all, cawing rudely. The roc watched until the groundling vanished around a distant boulder. Its least favorite clutchmate nested on that side - let him deal with it.

The roc grumbled, shifting on his branch and looking forward to his own turn to sleep.

\- o - O - o -

Rajo danced their spindle along, giddy with the freedom of twilight. This far from the fortress, no guard could see them, and no Rova knew to look. Even with Nabooru on duty tonight, if she did check their room, she wouldn't tell. Nabs always understood.

The wind pulled at their rust and ochre mantle, sharp and cold though the winter was young yet. It was worth it though - the stars were so much closer here, at the edge of the northern mountains and the rich eastern plains. And tonight, the wind had chased away the gray murk from the east, and the wandering fire would dance

Still, they felt better when they turned the corner and entered the shelter of the first canyon in the Lady's Quiver. The target poles looked weird and desolate in the lowering sunset, but they weren't as bad as the straw-men in the third canyon. Those were terrible even in daylight - but at night, they moved all by themselves.

Rajo dropped their spindle when they stumbled over a broken bow half-buried in the sand. The yarn tangled around the jagged wood, and every time Rajo bent to fetch the spindle it rolled away again.

"Tits," grumbled Rajo, kicking dust at the whole mess, but it only lay there in the wasting light, innocent as anything. Why did Nabs' words only ever work for her? Maybe they weren't saying them right. They gathered wind and shouted at the canyon, vaguely pleased when the canyon shouted back. But the spindle raced away as soon as they touched the yarn again.

Stupid warriors, leaving trash where anybody might trip on it. Rajo shook free of their mantle, shivering in the wind. Turning in another snarl of bad, dirty yarn was better than getting in trouble for losing _another_ spindle whorl though. They dropped the heavy wool over all of it, scooping up yarn, spindle and bow, and no small portion of sand.

Rajo hefted the untidy bundle, careful not to step on the cloth too much as they hurried down the canyon. Time enough to untangle everything later, when they reached their secret place. It was even warmer than the canyon floor, and the crystals in the walls there reflected the wandering fire well enough to make the work almost easy.

Two-thirds of the way down the canyon, they almost dropped it all again. Something was moving in the shadows at the foot of the last target board - the low, charred one that Nabooru broke her hand on that morning. Rajo heard her swearing when she came back to the fortress early, and had snuck away from their lessons to hear better. Nabs always had the most interesting stories. She didn't say what happened at all, but she was really mad at the bridge sisters.

But when the Rova called the bridge sisters into the courtyard, they huffed and tossed their heads like stubborn horses, and called Nabs a liar. But Nabs _never_ lied. Not really.

Rajo held their breath, tiptoeing closer to the canyon wall. If they moved slow and quiet, maybe whatever-it-was wouldn't notice them. Or maybe they should run through the twilight again. That might be better - but it was getting late.

They edged closer to the crevasse that joined the first canyon to the second, watching the shadows more than their own feet - which is how they noticed the little glitter of light coming from the moving shadow sometimes. And then they realized it wasn't just the wind moaning.

Rajo thought about running - but which way? Home? They were closer to their secret place now, but they had to climb to get there, and that was never fast. Belatedly, Rajo realized they wouldn't be able to carry anything while they climbed. Or at least, not like this.

"Tits," said Rajo.

The shadow yelped - but in a broken and wheezing way. Like when the Rova started to fix Dira's smooshed-up legs, before her eyes rolled back and she stopped moving.

Rajo dropped their burden and ran.

"Stop, stop it," cried Rajo, stumbling, sliding on their knees as the shadow bunched up and fell back with another pitiful yelp.

"Nnnn-" it said.

Rajo caught a fistful of damp wool, pulling the other child back by their tunic as they tried again to rise. "Stop - you make it worse, stupid."

The other child sobbed, shoving their face against the sand. They looked weird and splotchy in the dim light, and their ears were the longest Rajo had ever seen. And now they could see what caught the light.

"Nnnghohay-!" said the stranger to the ground, shattering Rajo's thoughts before they could be sure what they were.

"No," said Rajo. "Lay still, stupid. Don't you know anything?"

The other child sobbed, trying to curl in a little ball. But their arm was bent around the wrong way, so Rajo could still reach the stones on their loose, double-looped bracelets. They were warm and slick to the touch, but the magic woke easily. It tickled under their skin, and cast a soft green light around both of them.

The stranger squeaked like a startled cat, rolling over a little. Rajo crawled forward, keeping one fist in the stranger's tunic for balance and to keep them from rolling out of reach.

"Let me help, stupid. Do you want monsters to eat you?"

The stranger moaned, shoving their face in the sand again. It was a stupid way to try to escape, really. But that meant Rajo could reach the stranger's necklace. Maybe they didn't know what they had, or maybe they didn't have enough magic yet to make it work.

But Rajo did.

\- o - O - o -

Rajo set their back against the warm, smooth stone, watching the stranger in the dark. The magic had made both of them a little dizzy, but that was a good thing. Rajo shoved the mantle and everything at the other and dragged them along before they could argue. They made it to the Dragon's Stairs just before true night fell, and Rajo opened the shadows at its foot. The stranger had screamed - but it was a short sprint up the weird, winding twilight path, and they reached the end of it before any of the creatures on the other side could catch them.

"I've never seen you before," said Rajo.

The stranger sat down against the opposite wall, pulling their knees to the chest. They stared with their wide eyes, but they didn't answer. Maybe they didn't know it was a question.

"What happened, anyway? Why didn't you use your summer stones? Are you lost?"

The stranger laughed, but it wasn't a funny laugh. "Maybe we all are."

"You're weird," said Rajo.

"Why did you do it?" said the stranger, tipping their weird pale face to one side.

"Do what?"

The stranger brushed dirt from their knees. Not like it would help. Their gray trousers were torn in at least six places. "You know what, Rajolaan."

"Are you a spirit?" blurted Rajo.

The stranger smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "My name is Link."

"Do you bring my Name?"

"Yes and no," said Link.

Rajo waited, but Link didn't say anything else. So Rajo tipped their head back to watch the wandering fire through the crystal eye in the ceiling of the little cave. The pattern of its dance made them feel better, and they pull their mantle up to the their shoulders, letting their mind empty of everything but the patterns.

"This is a beautiful place," said Link.

"Yeah," said Rajo. "You gotta keep it secret though."

"Why?"

Rajo frowned at Link. "Because. It's mine."

"But you brought me here."

"Yeah, so?" Rajo shook their head, sinking a little lower against the wall. "It was close, and the wind is bad at night. Also monsters."

"Fair enough," said Link. "How did you find it? When?"

"Nabs gave it to me, for my year-gift in the raining summer."

Link was quiet for a while, and Rajo couldn't quite tell whether they were watching the wandering fire or not. "When did Nabooru change?"

Rajo considered this. "After. When the mothers named her avadha Saiev."

"Why?"

Rajo shrugged. "Everyone's different when they're big."


	11. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 2

The soft ethereal trill of a flute teased at the edge of the dream, unravelling the whispering voice and the tangled fog of the dream-swamp. The reaching, snatching, twisted thorntrees drew back, stretching their talons toward the heavens and weaving one with the other with glimmers of starlight between, until they formed a latticework pattern that seemed to hold secrets upon secrets in their branches.

Rajo reached to touch the patterns, and started awake when their fingers brushed the worn seams of the square cave walls. The strange gray-green stone of their secret place proved warm as it was bright - and too much of both. But they had cushions - blankets - golden morning light washed over them and the faded patterns of the densely tufted twisthorn rug beneath them.

Rajo tried to scramble to their feet, getting caught in the blankets - too many, and all wrong. They smelled strange and their colors were dull - and they were still in the square cave with its great glass eye. The music stopped, and silence filled their ears with its dreadful menace.

"Wake up, stupid," Rajo said. "Wake up wake UP-"

"Shh - it's ok - I fixed it-" said a strange high voice.

Rajo whirled, pressing their back to the wall - the pale child from the archery range stood over them, hands empty, blue eyes cold. In the way of dreams, he carried no sign of his injuries from the night before, except that his mourning purple tunic showed threadbare places and old bloodstains.

"Get away-" Rajo growled. "You're not real - I am real - I will wake up and you'll be nothing. Nothing!"

The pale child frowned, and took a step back. "No - It's ok - I fixed it- you fell asleep but you were talking - so I made the sun dance but it's ok now, yeah?"

"Go away!" Rajo screamed, clawing free of the winding blankets at last. They drew their long knife - it felt real in their hand, as real as the walls, as the morning - but it couldn't be. They couldn't have fallen asleep - certainly not with the weird stranger so close - and never for so long. Anyways the square cave didn't have anything in it but sand and rocks and one old shawl Rajo got in trouble for losing, and maybe one of their missing spindles.

It had to be a dream.  
But they couldn't wake up.

"I fixed it -" said the pale child, desperately, pointing to a bright blue-purple stone laying on a square of colorless cloth at the center of the square cave. It pulsed with strange magic that hurt to look at.

The sky above the great glass eye shone in the blinding white-blue of morning, but the hard-edged entry passage lay in night's shadow with starlight and whistling wind beyond. At the edge of the rug they'd woken up on lay the broken bow and their spindle, but they weren't tangled anymore. The bad yarn they'd made last night had been finished and wound off in a neat skein, with most of the sand shaken off. But there was new yarn on their spindle, finer than they'd ever spun, and all in shifting oasis colors no one ever let the ilmaha ruin.

There was one other way to make the dream end. It hurt, and they would wake up tired, but it always worked.

\- o - O - o -

Rajo woke to the trill of a flute in their ear, sharp and hollow sounding, as if the player didn't have the wind for the task. Confused, they tried to sit up, but the blankets were so heavy, and the morning was too bright, and their throat hurt.

"Balls," Rajo swore instead.

The music stopped.

Rajo squinted against the blinding light above, wondering vaguely why the window was on the ceiling. It almost looked like the eye of the square cave - but that was silly. They were surely in their own bed in the fortress, oversleeping the call to lessons.

"Shh, it's ok now," whispered a small voice. "I fix it."

Rajo froze. That was the stranger's voice. Link. But that was impossible - Rajo tried to untangle the blankets, but everything was so heavy, and a wave of dizziness sloshed through them even though they were laying down, and Rajo had to bite their tongue to keep their stomach from turning inside out.

"Don't move, ok? The magic needs time. But it's ok, I fixed it. You can sleep as long as you want, it's ok."

"I have to go home," Rajo said, though it hurt to talk and they sounded like a squeaky door.

"Shh," said Link. "Not yet. When you're better, I take you to dawn. Now, you rest. Our secret ok?"

"Sun's already up, stupid. Gonna be in trouble for weeks," said Rajo.

"No," said Link, resting his hand feather-light on Rajo's shoulder. Rajo turned to look at him, ignoring the throbbing pain through their neck and shoulder as they moved. "Told you. I fixed it. Good magic. Our secret, yeah?"

Rajo frowned up at him. His pale face was splattered with blood spots and streaked with sand and snot. "If it's good magic, why are you crying?"


	12. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 3

__Long ago tomorrow, in the place where the gods dream, there will live a beautiful princess. Good and Kind and Wise, even when she will be little. Everything she dreams comes true, but one day, there is a bad dream. A great black storm comes from the west, swallowing everything green and good, the castle in ruins, the rivers dry, the great mountain overflowing with fire. No one important will listen to this dream, not even the King.__

 _The princess walks in her garden, trying to solve the dreaming, for she dreams the storm again and again, but still no one will listen. Through the window she sees a stranger come to bow before the King, but his heart does not bow with him. He sees her through the window, and she understands - he is the storm…_

\- o - O - o -

Rajo blinked awake again, their tongue too dry even to swear. The acrid scent of red potion filled their nostrils, and they were drenched with sweat despite the cold. Which made about as much sense as the weight of Link's arm thrown over their chest or the searing afternoon sun glaring at them through the great glass eye above.

Rajo turned their head carefully, grinding their teeth at the pain. Link was asleep, his dirty face pressed tight against their shoulder. He commanded strange magic that could turn the world inside out, but he refused to leave Rajo alone even when sleep ambushed them in the middle of a story.

Rajo frowned, trying to knit together the memory of that morning. Nothing made sense - but at least the nightmares hadn't come during the day. Maybe they couldn't. Or maybe Link's weird magic infected everything with madness, from the heavens to their very bones, rendering night into day and heat into cold until the whole world was a puzzlebox.

Link muttered in his sleep, and with a sinking dread Rajo realized his words weren't simply nonsense. They were Hylian words. That's why he looked weird and pale, why his speech was bumpy and disordered. Why Rajo found him broken in the place Nabs said she broke her hand, and why she blamed it on the bridge sisters when the Rova asked questions. They guarded the easiest path joining the land of the People with their decadent, bloodthirsty neighbor.

Link was a spy.

Nabs was clever - she let the Rova finish the story for her, assume they brawled over something petty, and no one could ever say she lied to them. She just… didn't tell them they were wrong, and it wasn't against the law to let people be stupid.

But - why didn't Nabs drag him to the fortress and let the mothers deal with him? She was bigger and stronger and even meaner than anyone when she wanted to be. Rajo no longer wondered how Link came to misadventure, but rather why she left her work unfinished. And she really wasn't fond of the bridge sisters, so why not let them get in trouble for letting him sneak across?

Unless she had some reason to hide Link that was important enough to risk getting called before the mothers as a traitor. But - if that were so - then why did she beat him at all?

"Had to," slurred Link. "Must go if."

Rajo's head throbbed with the frustration of trying to untangle the madness. They needed to get home - talk to Nabs. She knew something important, something the Rova wouldn't like. Something… Link was trying to learn? Had learned?

"Bad things," Link murmured with a sniffle. "Doing bad things many tomorrows. Had to. Had to. Can't let you."

Rajo frowned at the sun overhead as Link's mad rambling subsided into helpless sobs. He had to be the worst spy in the history of all spies ever.

\- o - O - o -

The angle of the golden light through the great glass eye changed while sleep ambushed them. Again.

They rolled onto their side painfully, swearing again at the sheer stupid difficulty of it. They'd lost count of - well, almost everything, now. But they were alone in the square cave.

Again.

Rajo tied another knot in the littlest braid hanging before their left ear, and ran their fingers over its length. Four awakenings alone, in the daylight. Rajo checked the same tiny braid on the right - still three, but one came with the moon at the east, and the other at the west.

So it was still the third day. Probably.

Rajo pried the loose cork from the beautiful pale green bottle and drank as much of the clear water as they could manage. Every swallow hurt, so they held it on their tongue until the last possible moment. This was the third bottle of the six Link left them, labelled like the rest in lopsided scrawls that might read 'water' if you squinted hard enough.

The fat clay jar with the label _'gud - ete'_ held something almost as precious: hundreds of paper-thin medallions of honey-glass, packed in fine white root powder to keep them from sticking together. Those were exquisite torture to hold against their tongue until they dissolved. Rajo made the mistake of biting through the very first one and couldn't even scream it hurt so much.

Rajo was glad Link had been away then.

They lay in frustrated idleness a long time, watching the light move across the little square cave, trying to decipher the worn patterns of the gray-green walls and rust orange floor newly revealed where the bloodstained sand had been scraped away.

"You did a bad thing," was all Link would say about it, before he left.

Well.  
That and _"I fix it."_  
Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Rajo pulled the blankets higher, cursing as another cold wind knifed through the cave, and wished for Nabs.

\- o - O - o -

Rajo woke next to searing rose-pink light and a fluttering, whisper-soft tickle across their face. They couldn't see anything but pink - but somehow there was an impression of wings in it, and of bells.

"Shh, don't move," whispered Link from somewhere on the other side of the light.

"Can't see," Rajo whispered back.

A laugh like dancing bells and rain filled their ears, and a great flood of warm washed through them, fizzing under their skin like the Rovas' purple potion inside a glass jar. And somehow they tasted King's Honey on their lips when the fluttery feeling passed over it.

"What is-" Rajo began, startled by the strange loudness of their own voice.

"I went to the great fairy," said Link. "I promised to help the little ones hide from the bad magic."

Rajo squinted into the light, trying to make out anything at all. The beautiful laugh filled their ears again, and the intolerable heaviness lifted all at once. They would have pushed to their feet but for the dizziness when they tried even to sit upright. The pink light whirled around them three times, and vanished in a peal of laughter, leaving them alone with Link in the muted shadows of the square cave at twilight.

"Why bother," said Rajo, realizing as they spoke that their throat didn't hurt anymore. "You're one of them. You shouldn't even be here. We're enemies."

"You helped me. So I try to help you. But I couldn't stop you."

Rajo frowned at him as they twisted to put their back against the wall. Link knelt beside the bloodstained rug, hands folded on his knees. The weird blue-purple gem lay behind him at the center of the cave still - and the passage out remained in deepest shadow.

"So we're even," said Rajo. "I don't owe you anything. Go home, spy - don't try to follow."

Link sniffled pathetically and wiped his nose on his dirty sleeve. "Yeah. Take your magic road. Is almost dawn anyway."

Rajo frowned as they pushed to their feet. "How do you know about that-?"

Link shrugged. "You brought me here."

"That was at twilight," said Rajo, glancing up at the great glass eye as they snatched up their stained mantle. A mark, or maybe a little less in the soft amber twilight, and they had a long way to run. The spindle would just have to be lost like the last one.

"I'm sorry," said Link.

Rajo bared their teeth as they edged toward the passage door. "I don't care."

"I know," said Link, wiping his nose and sniffling. But he didn't rise, or try to stop them - so when Rajo reached the door, they turned and fled, stumbling over some stupid rock in the passage.

The wind howled - and Rajo stepped out onto the Dragon's Stairs under the charcoal skies of false dawn.

Not twilight.

Rajo stopped at the edge of the first stair, still slightly dizzy from the magic - the wind tried to tear their mantle away as they reached for the magic. It was hard to focus with their stomach roaring in fury. They didn't know how long it had been since they had real food - four marks maybe, before they left the fortress. But that was probably days ago now.

The magic stuttered and fell away - if it was dawn, it was early to try to call it - but it should have been twilight. Rajo turned at the sound of a flute behind them - but they were alone on the stair. The passage to their square cave lay in shadow - at least it was a little out of the wind - if Link was busy with his stupid flute maybe he wouldn't notice Rajo waiting for the magic to be easier.

But as they crept back into the shelter of it, they could see the crystals in the walls of the cave were glowing faintly amber the way they did in the deep of night. Link was playing his flute, but not sitting beside the rug - there was no rug at all. The square cave was empty but for Link, and the blue-purple stone - and another child, slumped against the opposite wall wrapped in sand-and-ochre cloth so only their long red braids showed.

And the great glass eye above them looked out on stars.

Rajo swore, but Link didn't look up from his playing, and the child didn't move.

Rajo took one step closer, and stumbled again on some stupid rock they couldn't see - and the cave ahead flooded with the soft beauty of twilight.

"Din's fire," Rajo swore.

The child was gone, and where they had been now lay the bloodstained rug and everything else they'd just left behind. Link knelt in the middle of it all, watching Rajo with his wide blue eyes.

Rajo turned around - outside the cave, it was still false dawn.

"I told you," said Link in a quiet voice. "I fixed it."


	13. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 4

Long ago tomorrow, death will come to the deathless place. The guardian becomes sadness, and sent the spirit treasure to the King, so he would know what happens. But the King will not hear the forest any more than he heard the princess.

The wise princess will send warnings in secret to the mountains and to the river, but the stranger had been there first. He refused to make bad things stop unless they gave him their spirit treasure, and the guardians did not trust him. They will send their treasures to the wise princess instead, but a great storm comes even so, with bad magic in it.

The stranger made himself King, and for seven years, all was as the princess dreamed...

\- o - O - o -

Roast lamb dressed with harissa and honey lingered on the tongue like blasphemy. Unrepentant, Rajo slathered another round of flat bread with rich yogurt and piled it high with pickled vegetables, alternating ice and fire, feasting with both hands.

They knew at once the row of lidded pots Link unveiled were stolen from Her altar, but their stomach roared at the first scent when he lifted one lid in silent invitation. The Mother of Sands could either forgive them or smite them - and until She did, Rajo was too hungry to care.

They were caught raiding the kitchens, the first morning they returned. For that, they were banished from the table the rest of the day. Nabooru slipped them some field rations during the midday quiet - better than nothing, but only just.

They fell asleep in lessons later that day - stupid, with nearly a week of almost nothing but sleeping inside the Link-spirit's spell circle. For this they would stand in all their lessons the rest of the week. So Rajo got out their spindle.

The week became three.

Nabooru was reassigned watch over their section, no doubt because of them. Everyone knew it was impossible to sneak past Nabs. There was no chance to talk with her. No good if she should get in trouble too.

They stole one of her soft high-collared tunics on the second morning, and a tin of the gold-brown paste she used on holidays to smooth over the peahat scars from when she was very little. She pretended not to notice the theft, though she teased them for being colorblind, pairing cornflower blue with a beetroot pink and onion-gold shawl.

No one else noticed anything at all, and they thought that would be the end of it. Except the weavers went to the Rova that evening, demanding to know who spun the oasis yarns they found buried in the ilmaha's baskets, insisting they be reassigned to their division at once. Their mothers, the Great Rova twins Koume and Kotake cast a Knowing on the yarns, right there in the hall of the people, in front of everyone, and Rajo was certain their life was over.

The spirit echoes on the wool rose in glorious sparkling many-colored light, and the sound of bells and the howling of wolfos echoed from stone to stone. Kotake demanded the spirit take more solid form, and Koume refined its chaotic noise into something like speech.

But the wisp that formed didn't look like the Link-spirit at all, or Rajo. Instead, a pair of laughing Poe whirled about the hall, swinging their lanterns and crying, "Good! Wonderful! You liked it? You like it fairy boy? Good stuff isn't it? Just your colors. They give you the best presents when you're dead!"

Koume shrieked at them. "What are you doing out of your box, you harlot?"

"Nevermind that," spat Kotake. "I want to know how you've kept your talons in the world, you conniving, thieving rat."

The poes' shades laughed again, hovering near the yarn. "Ha! As if you have any wind for speaking. Should have learned to spell my sisters - you wanted life eternal, and got yourselves eternal ugly!"

No one talked back to the Eldest Rova. Not even the powerful spirits summoned for their lessons, not even the voice in the blue gem.

Rajo snuck out of the hall just before the explosions started, threaded through with the laughter of the mad poes singing a nonsense rhyme about a green fairy.

For this, they lost access to the magic workrooms and spellbook archive for a week, but so did everyone else. When the Great Rova were truly angry, all the people walked softly.

On the third day, Nabooru spoke the truth when the Rova asked whether Rajo was alone when she caught them trying to steal the storehouse key.

For this, Rajo was allowed to eat only what was left after everyone else finished, and forbidden all the archives.

For another week.

To say the Rova were furious about their disgrace would be to say the black winds were unpleasant.

Rajo was certain they would go mad - no matter how they tried to follow the rules - or how careful they were when they couldn't bear to do so - everything went wrong. Even their spinning was worse than before, though the weaving masters swore that should be impossible. It was all so immeasurably stupid - of course there were reasons for the laws, and generally Rajo agreed with those reasons. If everyone stole from the storehouse whenever they pleased and ate however much they pleased, the People would go hungry before very many days were measured.

But Rajo was hungry. They shouldn't have to give any more reason than that - it wasn't at all like stealing festival cakes just because they liked them. Rajo returned from the Link-spirit's spell circle in the observatory above the Lady's Quiver so hungry they ate three raw, tasteless, gummy leaves from a pin-pad plant on the walk back to the fortress. After eating a handful of honey-glass and the bag of weirdly bitter nuts Link made them take when they refused to stay any longer.

On the seventh day, Rajo swore never to tell anyone about the Link-spirit just to spite the division-masters for making them follow stupid laws that shouldn't apply to them. Serve them all right if he visited every one among them with bad dreams.

The only good thing about it was the only bad dreams that could reach them were all about food that either vanished or turned into gross things when they tried to eat it.

On the ninth day, they didn't put the cosmetic on well enough, and Nabs noticed the new scar. She stole them away before lessons, demanding to know what happened. Rajo refused - and when she yelled, they yelled back. If she really cared about anything but her own stupid wealth and glory she wouldn't betray them.

That night she 'forgot' to make Rajo bolt their shutters and give her the key.

Rajo secretly promised to forgive her - in the morning - as they emerged from the shadows of twilight to find the Link-spirit sitting in the observatory among stolen temple pots, with a plate of honeyed nut-meat cakes on the cloth next to his magic stone.


	14. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 5

_Long ago tomorrow, in the time of the great storm, the wise princess will travel in secret, braving the madness of endarkened guardians in search of the legendary six sages. She endured seven years of trial alone, until the gate of the gods' broken dreaming will be open again._

 _The spirits of the six lost sages will be gathered to unmake the storm, and the magic of the great fairies returned the land to the keeping of the wise princess. But the darkness did not lift with the death of the usurper King, or the great beast which will come after._

 _The princess used the place of the gods' dreaming to unravel the years, and return all things to how they were before the storm. But death will hold the deathless guardians, as the gods' dreaming held the lost-and-found sages, and the great fairies hide, as they once did in the long ago tomorrow, when the bad magic was beginning..._

\- o - O - o -

Rajo sprawled on the stained twisthorn wool rug, watching the wandering fire dance across the sky. Link hummed a strange, eerie melody as he spun their wool into finer, smoother yarn than Rajo had ever yet managed. The weaving masters would ask questions, but when did they not? Let them yell about uneven quality - what did it matter if it wasn't all the same so long as it was finished? Fine or heavy, even or lumpy, it made cloth either way.

Rajo folded their hands behind their head, drinking in the beauty of the night sky. "What makes the magic bad? Your stories only say it is dark, but dark isn't bad, it just is. Like lightning or wind or a wild thing. So what's so bad about it?"

Link stopped humming, but the soft whir of the spindle continued. "Why do you have to be like that? Why can't you just be good?"

Rajo frowned. "What do you know about anything anyway, Hylian?"

"Enough," said Link. He sulked in silence, flicking the spindle with irritation.

Rajo just watched the wandering fire and wallowed in the heaviness of the feast. Their stomach hurt it was so full, but it was a glorious pain, and they could still taste the forbidden spices on their tongue.

"The bad magic hurts people," Link said at last. "People will die, Rajolaan."

"People die all the time," said Rajo with a shrug. "Everyone knows that."

"Why do you have to be like that? You don't even sound sorry." Link muttered.

"Why should I be? The gods made that rule, not me."

"Because," said Link. "Dying hurts. You should be sorry when people die, and extra sorry when they didn't get to be old first, and even more when it's because of you -"

Rajo rolled to their hands and knees and snarled at him. "Stupidhead! Cucco-brained moon-face! You think you can say whatever because you're big, but you don't know anything! The stories I told you - those were accidents, ok?"

Link froze, blue eyes wide. The spindle slowed and spun around the wrong way, but he didn't notice.

"Being sorry doesn't do anything, stupid. Being sorry doesn't make it unhappen. And anyway some people are better off dead - Dira would have become a great warrior - now they cannot even walk without potions - how will they find their Name in the Sands now? Poe and Stalfos don't care, so why should I? Why should anyone?" Rajo snapped.

"Because," said Link, eyes shining in the dim light from the wall-crystals and the wandering fire and his blue-purple magic stone. "Hurting people is bad, Rajolaan."

"That's not fair! I haven't done anything," Rajo scrambled to their feet. "Things just happen, ok? You're just like everyone else - talking about omens and magic and watching - always watching - just because I'm different, just because I'm not perfect - If I'd known you'd be so stupid-"

The spindle fell to the floor and rolled away to bump against the magic stone. The blue-purple light flared, and rushed back to the stone with a pop that made their ears ring. The crystals in the walls lost their light, and the wandering fire blinked out as the stars wound forward to dawn.

Link vanished.

Rajo blinked at the empty room, confused by all the sand. Link swept all of it out while they were back at the fortress, and washed away the bloodstains too - but it was all back.

"Why did you do it?" Link murmured in Hylian from somewhere behind them.

Rajo turned, throat tight, tongue too dry to work. Link knelt behind them at the edge of the stained rug, facing away. At his side, the jar of honey-glass and all six bottles full of water, the yarn and the broken bow, and the spindle full of the oasis yarn Rajo had hidden in the weavers baskets.

"Do what?" Rajo whispered.

Link whirled about, startled, drawing a short leaf-shaped blade from somewhere. Behind him, Rajo saw red braids and a bundle of bloodstained blankets.

Rajo took a step back, and Link lowered the sword.

"Everything," he said in Hylian. His pale face was streaked with dirt and tear-tracks, and though he spoke softly his face snarled. "You lie. You steal. You break things. You hurt people."

"You're not real," whispered Rajo, but they didn't quite believe themselves. "I am real - I will wake up-"

"No," said Link. "You won't."

Rajo swallowed hard, balling their hands into fists at their sides, and thought of Nabs. "Am I dead?"

Link shook his head, and hid the sword again. "Not anymore in this time. Not yet."

"Are you dead?"

Link sniffed and rubbed his fist across his weird little nose. "Why did you heal me?"

Rajo opened their mouth to speak, but a hand cold as the night wind snatched at their own as the blue light of Link's spell-circle flared with a great ringing loudness bigger than music, bigger than anything. Rajo screamed as Link vanished and another frozen hand clamped hard over their mouth. Rajo bit the hand and fought - but the blue light made them dizzy and clumsy, so they only fell to their knees and scraped their hands on the bare rust-streaked floor of the square observatory cave.

"It's ok," said Link in their ear. "I fixed it."

Rajo's stomach turned inside out.

\- o - O - o -

Link helped them out of their soiled mantle and tunic, and wrapped them in mostly-clean blankets. He carried all the dirty things outside, and came back soon after with fragrant cedar wood and a bag of rocks. He built a tiny fire around a three-legged pot, and spun while he waited for tea. Rajo sat on the rug with their back against the cave wall and tried not to shame themselves again.

Link's blue magic was fine as long as they didn't think about it, didn't cross in or out of it, didn't look directly at the stone that seemed to be the focus of it. Whatever it was, whatever it was for, Rajo hated it. Everything that happened since the blue stone lit up was horrible.

Silence stood between them a long time, until Rajo had to bite their tongue to keep from falling asleep. Link brought them a stoneware cup smelling of green and heavy with King's Honey.

"Is that the bad magic?"

Link shook his head. "It will keep you warm. You like it."

"Not the tea, stupid. The rock." Rajo scowled, and cradled the plain cup in both hands, letting the steam coil up their nose. They tried not to wonder why Link knew they would like it.

Link looked confused, but he followed their gaze when they nodded toward the pulsing blue-purple stone. Link had tucked it with its white cloth into one the empty feast-pots to prevent more accidents, but still its baleful glow spoiled the warm light of the amber wall-crystals.

"Oh," Link hung his head, and his cheeks turned pink. "It is dangerous magic, but not bad. I'm sorry it scared you Rajenaya - I will find the key in this before, and I will fix it, and then you will be good, and the storm will stay away."

"I wasn't scared," Rajo lied. "Will I get my Name before I die?"

Link turned too quickly and stumbled, squeaking a wordless question.

"You are some kind of weird spirit, yeah? You know how I will die," said Rajo, tasting the tea. It burned their lips, but it was sweet and reminded them of the white flowers in the court of the oasis fortress. "Do I get a Name first? Is it a good one?"

"Yes and no." Link murmured, licking his lips.

Rajo rolled their eyes. "Don't be stupid. Yes and no are opposites. It can't be both."

Link sat down next to the fire, wrapping his arms around his knees. His gray trousers were still torn and dirty, but he didn't seem to care. Nor did he notice the summerstones in his jewelry were shining all on their own. Rajo didn't see any new wounds on him, but maybe he still had bruises under his purple tunic. Or maybe something happened while he was getting firewood.

"Why did you help me?"

Rajo sipped the tea more carefully. "You ask that lots."

"It's important," said Link, dropping his chin on his knees.

Rajo shrugged. "Because."

"But why?"

"Because!" Rajo groaned, dropping their head back against the wall to stare out the great crystal eye. "I don't know ok? Why do you have to be stupid about it? I made your summerstones work, you brought the pink fairy. We're even, yeah?"

"No," said Link. "You did a bad thing, I just fixed it. Fixing things is good. Heroes fix things. I am good."

"And I'm not?"


	15. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 6

_Long ago tomorrow, in the time of the storms, three sacred treasures were sealed away in the place of the gods' broken dreaming. The guardians of forest and fire and water become sadness and chaos, and the spirits grow weak. Monsters and ghosts come to live in the ruined shrines, and darkness covered everything._

 _People flee to the forest, and were turned into stalfos and skullkid. The King will send his army even through the sacred woods, and seal the corrupted shrine with a construct of dark magic._ _No one fled up the mountains, for they rained fire and ash. The mountain people will vanish, for the King resurrected the bones of their ancient enemy, the dragon who once laired in the corrupted shrine under the highest peak._

 _The lakes and rivers will dry up for the springs had all frozen over. The water people were lost under the ice, their eggs taken for experiments to impress the King, their warriors swallowed by the monstrous hunger in the corrupted shrine._

 _Where the great castle of light once stood guard above a thriving town, the usurper King will raise a dark and terrible tower over a city of lost souls. Corrupted spirits will forge mindless puppet warriors for his army, and corrupted shadows will breed ravening monsters to consume whatever remains._

 _Many died, in the time of storms._

\- o - O - o -

Link sat a long time in silence, and Rajo drank their cooling tea. He was right: it tasted wonderful, and it felt warm all over, but in a lighter way than the pink fairy. Rajo wondered where it came from, and what it was made of.

It was nicer to think about than the stories. Link answered almost everything in riddles, or exciting, terrible stories that wandered about, somehow going nowhere. He was only a little bigger than Rajo, but his sour silences reminded them of Nabs after she came back from her first season of raids.

After the feast for the warriors, and after she gave Rajo new bone hair combs, she went to the Lady's Quiver with the other Saiev even though it was night. After that, she locked herself in her room for days, and wouldn't come out for anything, even when Dira fell into the corral with the new string of horses and the rest of the fortress was all noise and hurrying.

The Rova banished them from the sickroom when Dira's eyes rolled back, but nobody had unlocked the ilmaha's sleeping quarters yet. So Rajo climbed through Nabs' window instead and found her laying on the floor, sick. She'd smelled terrible, worse than the bad air in the bottle of King's Tears Rajo stole once. But the smell wasn't really the worst part - the worst part was the quiet. She didn't say anything at all, and her mind made no pictures when Rajo touched her spirit gem.

So Rajo unlocked the hall door and snuck into the small storeroom and stole a blue potion for her.

It helped, but even though she was better, she was weirdly quiet for weeks, and afterwards she always had a strange look whenever Rajo caught her staring at them. Not as much this winter, but she was always busy in the sword-courts or the training grounds now.

"You said the bad magic didn't die with the Storm King."

Link nodded, thinning out a lump of tangled wool as he made Rajo's spindle dance in the air.

"So it isn't because of him or it's not his, anyway," said Rajo. "Magic can't do anything on its own. When the caster dies, the spell ends. It's the rules."

"What are rules to a thief?" Link shrugged without looking up from his spinning.

Rajo rolled their eyes. "You're stupid even for a Hylian. Magic is like oil - even if you steal extra, that doesn't make the lamp any bigger or brighter or put it back together if it cracks."

"Not always."

"Ok," said Rajo, drinking more of the strange, sweet tea. "Maybe not for the gods. Because gods don't die, not really, and they're bigger than anything and part of everything. Like sand or water or wind or fire. But gods can't be kings. It's the rules."

"Demons don't follow rules," Link snarled.

"Everything follows rules," said Rajo. "Not knowing the pattern doesn't make it not be there. Even the wandering fire has rules."

"And what rule makes it ok to hurt people?"

"Pfft. Lots of them. Don't you know anything? Don't spirits have their own Rova?"

"I'm not a spirit."

"Whatever," said Rajo. "You have that blue stone magic too strong for people, but you couldn't even use a summerstone. So."

"So what?"

"So everything. You're friends with that other spirit aren't you? The pink one?"

"Fairy," said Link.

"And those crazy Poe?"

"What Poe?"

"The ones who gave you the oasis yarn. They made trouble when the weavers took it to the Rova you know."

Link frowned, winding the long tail of new yarn tightly around the cop. "How should I? I didn't get that from - look, ghosts didn't have anything to do with that, ok? It was - a gift."

"Whatever, they knew you, so it's good luck for us the Rova haven't noticed your weird Hylian spirit magic yet."

Link toyed with the spindle, staring at the rust-colored floor of the observatory cave. "Us."

Rajo frowned, poking at the sludge of leaves and King's Honey in the bottom of their teacup. "Where'd you get this from anyway?"

"Get what?" Link answered without looking up.

"All of this. I mean, I know you stole the feast, but all the rest. The ugly blankets and the tea and the summerstones and King's Honey and stuff."

Link scowled at Rajo's spindle in his hands, but said nothing.

"It's ok," said Rajo with a shrug, twisting the cup so the sludge would ooze closer to the rim. "I won't tell anyone you stole it. I just want to know how you get past the storehouse guards. The Exalted is super tough and she trained all of them, even Nabs."

"Didn't steal," Link mumbled.

"Horseshits," said Rajo, in between scoops of leaf-honey sludge.

Link snarled, and snatched the spindle in his fist, pulling his arm quickly back.

Rajo dropped the cup at once and scrambled to their knees to dodge a blow which stopped before it began.

Link opened his mouth but no words came out. His splotchy face and stupid wordless squeak made Rajo angry.

"Go on, do it," Rajo spat. "I'm not afraid of you - I'm not afraid of anyone! Who died and put you in charge of good and ungood anyway, huh? Stupid spirit doesn't know anything - take your stupid blue magic and go fix your own stupid country! Why did you come here anyway? No one wants you here. Just go back where you came from. _Go home_."

Link lowered the spindle in his fist, lip trembling. His raspy whisper filled the observatory cave with silence. "I can't."

"Stupid Hylian," Rajo sighed, shoving stray braids behind their ears. "I'll bring you a stupid map."

"Nonono-" burbled Link, shaking his head. "No map untangles the woods."

Rajo frowned. "You don't look much like the Kokiri in books."

Link dropped the spindle and sobbed, blurring his babbling lament. But Rajo was just as good with words as magic - maybe even better. Their Hylian was perfect - better than perfect, because they could read and speak Old Hylian, Courtly, and Common. It just sounded better with a drawling accent.

Also it made the teacher's face go funny shades of purple.

"The forest closed. Did everything they told me to do. Believed the legend - I did - did everything - but then she said she was sorry. She said she would fix the wrongness. But they're all gone and the forest is closed. Did everything they asked me to do. Fixed it, but my friends are all gone, so it isn't fixed at all and the forest is closed. They said I was a hero, but they're all gone and the bad magic comes back. Can't be green anymore. Have to fix it."

Rajo felt a chill creep up their spine, even though the air was still in the observatory cave. The stories were really _really_ real.

Rajo paced around the cave. It was easier to think when they were moving.

"Your friends. They died in the time of storms, didn't they?"

Link nodded and dropped his face into his hands, his golden hair falling in a wild curtain all around.

"The Storm King in your stories. They died because of him."

Link just sobbed.

Rajo paced, trying to remember what the Rova's books said about the Kokiri and the sacred deepwood. There wasn't much - the books all said it was dangerous and unpredictable, and maps only went to the very edge where the trees still let the sky through. They shivered just thinking about how small and close everything must be, closing in on you with winding roots and sharp branches, blotting out the patterns of the stars.

"The books say there's a special road in the Lost Woods that shows up to lead the purehearted to the spirits' place. But you are a spirit-"

"Am not," came Link's muffled wail.

Rajo rolled their eyes and crossed to where Link sat by the little fire, curled in on his misery.

"Well anyway, it sounds like it's just a magic road. And I know magic."

"Why do you keep helping me?" Link moaned.

"You don't need reasons to help," said Rajo, kneeling beside him. "You just do it."

Link sobbed even harder, so Rajo wrapped their arms around his thin shoulders, pulling him into the blanket too. He was poky, all angles and bone, and he cried like a lost little, shameless and messy.

Rajo waited, petting his silky hair when they thought they couldn't sit still much longer. "I bet you were the best hero spirit. But your friends were people, and people die. It's the rules. The Golden Three said it, so nobody can change it, not even gods."

"Demons-" began Link.

"Nope, not even demons," said Rajo. "Just like they can't make people worship them or obey, they can't make people live forever either. But they _can_ lie."

"Lying is bad," said Link.

Rajo shrugged. "You came from the forest - so you saw the magic road."

"I won't tell you the way even if the forest wasn't closed!"

Rajo rolled their eyes. "I don't _care_ about your stupid forest. I just can't figure out how it works if I don't know what happened when you say the forest closed."

Link moaned and curled into an even tighter ball under the blanket.

Rajo groaned at the wandering fire above, and tried to focus on the puzzle. "You said the bad magic didn't end when the Storm King died. Or the beast, after. So you were there. You saw it."

"I-" said Link.

Rajo waited as long as they could stand to, counting Link's shuddering, wheezing breaths. "You killed the Storm King."

"I-" whispered Link. "I did."

"But that didn't fix it, and the forest closed."

"I," said Link in his smallest voice. "I did a _bad thing_."

Rajo sighed. "Maybe. But the badness belongs to the people who told you to do it, lots more than you."

Link shook his head in mute denial.

"You said, you did everything they told you. You believed them and the legends, which said it was right." Rajo shrugged.

"I had to," murmured Link. "Bad things."

"Yeah," said Rajo. "War is stupid."

Link nodded.

"Lots of rules are stupid, too." Rajo sat back on their heels, pulling Link sideways with the blanket, half into their lap. "We should make new ones."

"You - you can't just-"

"Why not?" Rajo tipped their head back to watch the wandering fire dance. "The stars change their patterns - why not us? I have magic. You have magic - even if it is weird. We could even ask your princess - she has to help people, it's her job."

"But that's not how the legend-"

Rajo made a fart noise, and Link choked when he almost laughed at it. "So what? We'll just write a new one."


	16. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 7

Rajo leaned against the terrace wall, gasping for breath through the soft, heavy wool of the blanket. Dawn began to unravel the shadow roads before they reached the outer walls, and the fraying, twisted paths dropped out from under them when they stumbled over a sunbeam.

Everything moved too quickly, dazzling even in the flat grayness of almost-morning. Rajo wasn't entirely sure what spell they'd cast to break their fall - only that they reached, and something answered in a flash of red lights.

They'd fallen sideways against the chill stone of a west-facing wall, sliding down to the first terrace in a tangle of pain. The shadow of the fortress would hide them for another mark or so, and might still be deep enough to call the magic through. If only the sharp red spots in their eyes would go away and their ears would stop ringing.

Rajo counted heartbeats until they wanted to scream, but nothing changed. It would be stupid calling the magic when they couldn't control it. But - if they were caught like this, the Rova would surely give up on them forever. So they knotted the blanket around their waist and started climbing.

Rajo was not very good at climbing. Second-slowest in their section, even after the training sessions their questions provoked last spring. Forty nights spent climbing the walls armed and at speed, first with ropes and then without, only made everyone else even faster.

Yet they dared not linger for the archers to notice them by mistake.

One of the patrollers above called for light just as Rajo scrambled through the first open window. They lay sprawled on the stone floor, throat tight and limbs screaming, listening to the conversation above. Eventually the voices moved away, cursing moldorm and keese and rats and the slow march of dawn.

Rajo lay still longer, waiting for their racing heart to slow, listening to the quiet and hoping they wouldn't wake anyone important when they got back on their feet. Or on the way back to where they were supposed to be.

Or anywhere else more interesting.

Like a nap.

\- o - O - o -

The whisper of beads and tiny copper bells woke them at once. Rajo pretended to keep their eyes closed, and though their hand ached from gripping their shortblade so fiercely they couldn't make their fingers unfold.

Nabooru pushed through the ornamented curtains with an absentminded blasphemy. She yawned enormously, kicking her shoes into a corner as she unwound her sash.

Rajo waited, holding their breath until she laid both her curved longblades into their niche, and hung the bladed spear beside it. Not because they were afraid, but they didn't feel like fighting this early in the day. Nevermind the call to lessons was at least two marks ago.

Rajo they made sure the bed straps creaked under them as they sat up, wincing at the cold sunlight. Nabooru turned, hand floating to her own shortblade automatically. Rajo pretended not to notice, rubbing gunk out of their eyes with the heel of their hand.

"Hey," said Rajo.

"Mother of Sands," groaned Nabooru, burying her face in her hands. "Of course you're playing truant. Can't you stay out of trouble for just oneday?"

"It wouldn't be trouble if grownups weren't so stupid." Rajo threw the blankets back and climbed out of Nabs' bed.

"Watch your tongue, cheesebrain."

Rajo rolled their eyes and made fart sounds at her as they crossed to the half-veiled looking-glass to make sure the cosmetics hadn't smeared too much.

Nabs didn't fire back like she usually did, though they could feel her eyes on their back. Rajo could always tell when Nabs was watching them. It helped when they needed to sneak past her.

"Where are your own clothes?"

Rajo shrugged, pushing the rest of the veil back. "They're dirty."

"How did they get dirty?" Nabs folded her arms and looked down her nose at their reflection in the faintly green glass.

Rajo shrugged, frowning at the glass. Worse than the untidy strands everywhere, they'd managed to get disgusting stuff splattered on the lower half of their braids. Dry now, so they might be able to comb it out.

"So," said Nabs. "You took your clothes off and…?"

"I took a walk," said Rajo, carefully slicing through the wool stitches securing their braids.

"At midnight," said Nabs.

"I couldn't sleep," said Rajo.

"Din's Fires - again?"

Rajo shrugged, and gave up trying to untangle it with their fingers. "The others are being noisy. Even Angnu is snoring like a moblin. Where'd you put your combs?"

Nabooru frowned, but she crossed to her desk and dug through the chaos in the drawers for her fancy steel comb. It was made with a hole in the center, to hold it, and each of the three sides had different teeth. She held it out for them, but snatched it back at the last moment. "Don't bend it."

"I'll be careful," Rajo promised as she gave them the comb for real. "Anyways I was busy tonight. Last night. Whatever."

Now she made fart sounds, flipping her chair around so as to straddle it backwards and rest her corded arms over its worn back. "Doing what?"

"Thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself," said Nabooru.

"Shut up," said Rajo, snarling at the nonsense mess their hair had become. "You know things."

"Yeah," said Nabooru. "Like you need to start with the big teeth and work your way up, and you need to take those clothes off now. It's a bad omen to wear mourning when no one has died."

Rajo pulled loose hairs off the fine side of the comb and tried the biggest teeth. It didn't knock loose much of the dried up stuff, but it did slide through their curls easier. Rajo made a sour face at Nabs for being right, but she made an even sillier one. "Why should I? It's fancy, and I like it. It's too small for you anyway."

"It's nearly too small on you, ox-breath," said Nabooru.

"Were you my age when they died? Who were they? Why are the stitches all glittery? Can I have mirrors on my tunics too?"

Nabooru worked her jaw so the vein stood out on her neck, but she didn't say anything.

"Goat balls," Rajo swore as they tore more hair away from the worst tangle on their left side.

Nabooru coughed, and looked away. "It's from a long time ago. Take it off, Rajenaya."

"Why?"

"It's a bad omen to-"

"Not everyone comes back from Hyrule," said Rajo, using the comb to chip free some dried stuff from the plaits they hadn't unraveled yet.

"That's different," said Nabooru. "Anyways it's not like they were your own family."

"They were daughters of the Sands, weren't they? So they're all our sisters, kinda," said Rajo.

Nabooru scrubbed a hand over her face and stared at the wall. "It's still different. You'll understand when you're older."

Rajo frowned, and unraveled more of the braid. "You should be sorry when people die."

"I am," said Nabooru. "But that doesn't change anything."

"Maybe it should," said Rajo, shaking their head and marveling at the weird prickly, floaty feeling of their hair moving when they moved.

"What do you mean?"

Rajo shrugged, turning to the mirror again. Their face looked strange surrounded by curls, almost like some of the spirits who served the Rova. "They died because of Hyrule. And you should be extra sorry when it's your fault someone dies."

Nabooru sighed, and cursed. "And you stealing my old purple clothes does exactly what towards fixing that?"

"I'm working on that part," said Rajo, working through their curls with the middle-sized comb. "You've seen Hyrule with your own eyes."

"You're not missing anything much," said Nabooru. "Festering middens and rot-brained bullies with fancy gardens."

"They must have something good," said Rajo. "All the strong women go there after the river roars every year."

"You'll understand when you're older."

Rajo frowned. Grownups always tried to end questions that way. Nabs didn't. Usually. "Did the spirits give you your Name in plain words or was it a puzzle?"

Nabooru turned to meet their eye. "Why?"

"Because," said Rajo, lifting their chin. They were about level with each other, or maybe Rajo was a little higher, with Nabs sitting slouched over the chair like that. It made them feel strange, with a warmth somewhere in their stomach. Their skin didn't quite feel like their own this morning, but it wasn't in a crawly way like the blue magic.

"You know it's against the law to-"

"Yeah, mysteries of the sands, I know," said Rajo, waving off her objection. "If you won't tell me, then I need you to get me something from the Rova's library."

Nabooru narrowed her golden eyes. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Rajo lied. "I just wanna know things."

Nabooru frowned at them, one sculpted brow rising. "Did you get in a fight with one of the older girls?"

"No," Rajo said, turning away to comb the rest of the nonsense out of their hair. "I just - I was walking, and I was thinking, after the poes in the yarn, are the sands' spirits more like poes, or like... Something else?"

"Dunno," said Nabooru. "What did you see?"

Rajo pretended to be too absorbed in the combing to hear her.

"Out with it, clumsybutt."

Rajo sighed. "I saw a blue-purple light coming from a rock, and it made me sick, ok?"

Nabooru hummed to herself, and set her chin on her arms again. "What did it do exactly?"

"The light? It made a circle. I dunno. But I saw things inside it like-"

"A mirror of your nightmares."

Rajo stopped with the comb mid-stroke. "So you've seen it too."

Nabooru didn't say anything, but her eyes went odd somehow.

Rajo set the comb down next to the looking-glass and padded over to stand next to her. They dropped their voice to a whisper, casting a little bubble of look-away spell around them. "I need to know, Nabs. I need to know everything."

"Magic is dangerous," said Nabooru quietly. "Stick to what the Rova teach you, so you grow up strong and smart and rich. You will be great one day - but you're too little to seek your Name yet."

"I won't be little forever," Rajo growled.

"Rajo- look, it doesn't matter what I saw or how the spirits came to me," said Nabooru. "It's different for everyone."

"But you saw the Hylian child-spirit too, and the blue light. You know something important - and I need to know it too. Our secret, yeah?"

"By the Mother's left tit, but you are Murusa made flesh sometimes."

Rajo laughed. The cat-eared demon of tangled thread and lost things had lots of good stories. "You've been to Hyrule. You've even seen the horrible, choking, knotted forest-"

"I'm not taking you there," said Nabooru.

"But you will tell me about it, said Rajo.

"I didn't say that. What happened last week, impling? You're different."

Rajo shrugged, smoothing the fine purple wool over their chest. Maybe the purple mourning clothes they found in Nab's trunks were a little snug. But the fine embroidered fabric was soft as a kitten and it stretched a little too. It was different from anything else they'd ever worn. "Maybe I'm just not Rajolaan anymore."

Nabooru licked her lips like she hadn't had water all day. "So who are you?"

"You tell me," said Rajo, tucking their wild curls back behind their ears. The feeling of weight on the top of their ears was just too weird.

"That's not how it works," she said.

"It is now," said Rajo.

Nabooru rolled her eyes. "Says you and what army?"

"I don't need any stupid army," said Rajo, setting their jaw. "The rule is stupid, so I changed it."

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing," said Rajo.

Nabooru frowned, but she unfolded herself from her chair and knelt next to them as the look-away bubble started to wobble and shrink. "Did you have a vision, Rajo? With the blue stone?"

"Maybe."

"What did you see? You can tell me," she said, placing a warm hand on their shoulders. Rajo missed that - she was gone all the time now, being important and brave with the other Saiev. "I'll keep it secret. Just us."

"Blood," Rajo murmured. "Every time the blue light changes, there is blood everywhere."

"And?"

"And," Rajo sighed, and looked away so they wouldn't have to see Nabs looking at their scar. "Sometimes the blood is mine but it's not mine, either. The spirit with weird blue eyes, he says riddles, and when I touched him, I saw both blood and lightning. He says the magic princess is dreaming a storm, and if it isn't stopped, bad things will happen."

"That's really awful - come here," she said, wrapping them in her arms like she used to do when they were little and the Rova were away. "Nasty dreams are terrible, and you get more than your share of them. It's awful, I know, but they can't hurt you as long as you remember they're just dreams."

The look-away bubble popped as Rajo pushed away from her. They would be strong. They weren't little anymore. "I know what I saw, and it was real. And it's going to be even realer if I don't stop it. People are going to die in the storms. Lots of people. Our people."

Nabooru rocked back on her heels and worried her lower lip between her teeth a moment. "I need to tell the Exalted about this. I won't tell her it was your dream, but-"

"You can't," cried Rajo. "You promised!"

"I know," she said, holding out her hands to them. "But like you said, this is important, and sometimes important things mean we have to do things we don't like. I'll take care of it - it's still our secret - no one has to know it was your dream or anything. You're just too young to be-"

"I'm not _**just**_ anything anymore," said Rajo, their anger boiling over. "I'm not a bad-luck nobody weakling. I have magic - and I have a Name!"

"Rajo-"

"You had your chance to claim the blue-eyed spirit. Now he's mine and I'll solve all the puzzles. The lightning and the fairies and the ghosts and the wandering fire and the storm will answer to me."

Nabooru licked her lips again, and spoke in a quiet voice. "What will you do with them when they do?"

"I will make the bad kings sorry," said Rajo.


	17. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 8

Twilight fell early, heavy with storms gathered in the northern foothills like so many twisthorn sheep against an inconvenient fence. In the first week of it, the people cheered. In the second, they prayed. Now, they were silent, except for one.

"Boogers," said Rajo as they tripped over lamplight sneaking across the windowsill.

Nabooru groaned as Rajo overbalanced the writing desk and everything on it. "For once in your life can you just use a door like a normal child?"

Rajo dusted off their knees, making sure they hadn't torn anything as they tumbled. "If you hadn't locked your stupid shutters you wouldn't even know I was here."

"Whatever," said Nabooru, stretching with an enormous yawn. "You're such a hopelessly noisy thief you'll be lucky to grow up a graverobber."

Rajo made a face at her in the orange lamplight, righting the desk. "You shouldn't even light the lamp when you're going to drink. You always forget to snuff it before you fall asleep."

"I wasn't asleep yet, cheesebrain. I wanted to talk to you - you've got to stop wearing mourning colors. People aren't stupid - just because you put it with something else doesn't mean they won't still notice."

"Yeah? Well, I don't care," said Rajo, collecting the fallen books before the shattered inkwell could ruin them. "Where's the fifth one?"

"Don't be a turd. I couldn't find it. Either the Rova are using it, or the title's wrong. You said you needed some _thing_ from their library, not half the archive."

"Balls," said Rajo, straightening the crinkled pages of the fourth volume. "Well, it doesn't matter. I have another list for you anyway."

"Fine. I hope you brought me enough replacements for both sets this time."

Rajo pulled the strap of their heavy satchel over their head and dropped it next to the desk by way of answer.

Nabooru sighed. "Alright, give me the list, and I'll start looking for them. Try to make these four last a few days, or the Exalted is going to start asking questions."

Rajo tucked the four new volumes into the otherwise mostly empty satchel under their mantle. "Fine. Get me the potions first then."

Nabooru snorted. "I'm not your servant, numbskull. Steal them yourself."

"Don't be stupid. The Rova doubled the watch on the medicine halls."

"So get practicing," said Nabooru, throwing back her blankets. "You're not going to learn how to sneak past the Elite with your nose in musty old books every night."

"Time is more important than lessons in anything," said Rajo, crossing the room to hand her a folded scrap of paper. "I made a list of the ingredients in case you were too cucco hearted to get the finished potions. But then I'll need them tomorrow."

Nabs swore, snatching the paper from their fingers. They glared at Rajo without bothering to read the list. "What's on your face?"

"Nothing. Actually, get the the stuff tomorrow either way. Put the lamp somewhere else, or put the jars in the window or something."

"No," said Nabs, catching their wrist. "That's not a shadow - turn, let me see it."

Rajo groaned, pulling against her strength to little use. "I was clumsy, ok? Let me go, I have stuff to do tonight."

"It can wait. How _exactly_ were you clumsy today, Rajenaya? You have to tell me."

Rajo scowled, letting her pull them closer and push back the wool of their dark mantle. They refused to look at her, even when she grabbed their chin and made them turn. "I don't _have_ to do anything. Let me go or you'll be sorry."

"Don't be like that," said Nabs.

"I'll be however I want," said Rajo, jerking away as the red magic started to glitter at the edges of their vision. It wasn't quite like the Rova's spells, and it wasn't at all like the wandering fire, or the shadows. It came easier when they were angry, but the Rova seemed to know when they'd used it. They called the shadows as they strode to the window, careful to avoid the pool of lamplight this time. "Just get the stuff."

\- o - O - o -

Rajo checked the seal, and slipped the bottle into place next to the others in the pockets of the Link-spirit's brown satchel. She'd brought all three potions, and an extra bottle with a single weird mushroom packed in oil. It looked like the one mentioned in the recipe, but without smelling it they couldn't be sure.

"Don't get caught with that," said Nabs from the darkness. "And don't eat it."

Rajo groaned. She was supposed to be asleep. "Don't be stupid."

"Same to you, ox-brain."

"I don't need the book of maps anymore," said Rajo "At least, not right now. I left the new list inside the one about the river people. The one about stone magic - get me that one first."

"What are you up to? I heard you were sleeping in lessons again."

Rajo shrugged, tying the satchel shut for the race against sunrise. "Another ilmaha died yesterday, and one of the weavers."

"War isn't the only reason people die," said Nabs. "Were they your friends?"

Rajo shook their head. "I heard the healers talking. This fever - the red cough comes for babies. Nobody gets it twice."

Nabs was quiet a moment as Rajo pulled their mantle tight and climbed into the window.

"You've always been healthy," said Nabs.

Rajo stepped out into the cold shadows.

\- o - O - o -

"I won't steal any more potions," said Nabs a week later. She'd been waiting for them next to the half open window. She opened the shield on the lantern before they quite reached the floor.

Rajo fell, collecting a splinter in their palm. "I didn't want any more anyway. They're stupid."

"Four more of your friends have died."

"Not my fault," said Rajo, pulling the splinter with their teeth.

Nabs closed the window and put her back against the shutters. "You've got bruises again."

"It's nothing," said Rajo, digging out the last batch of books. "Are you on dawn watch?"

"I've had enough of these games, Rajenaya. It's time to be serious - you need to tell me what's going on." Nabs set the lantern on the desk and crossed her arms, glaring down at them. "And if you don't, I'm telling the Exalted. Tonight."

"I think I found the grotto," said Rajo.

Nabs frowned harder. "What grotto?"

"The one you saw in the spirit's blue gem - I'll explain when we get there. We have to be fast."

"What does this have to do with the long fever?"

"Just trust me," said Rajo, reaching for her hand.

She sighed and mutters blasphemies, but clasped their hand in her own.

Rajo stole the lanternfire and called the twilight through the cracks in the shutters. Shadows filled the room, and Nabs faded to a little green echo beside the window, dropping their hand. She kept looking around her like she couldn't see them, and when Rajo reached for her, their hand passed right through hers.

"Turds," said Rajo, throwing open the shutters in case that would help. It didn't.

Rajo called to her, climbing into the window, but she didn't seem to hear. Wherever she turned, her spirit gem cast a faint green-gold light. This hadn't happened when they dragged the Link-spirit to the observatory cave, but Nabs was a person, not a spirit.

Rajo reached for her gem, hoping maybe they could make her hear that way, but as soon as their fingers brushed against it, it fell.

Nabs shrank into a little ball of witchfire as her gem bounced across the floorboards. Rajo scrambled after it, cradling it against their chest. That wasn't supposed to happen at all.

The ball of Nabs-witchfire followed them though.

Rajo turned a circuit around the room, watching it follow faithfully three steps behind.

"Whatever," said Rajo, winding the gem's chain around their fingers so they wouldn't drop it. They climbed back into the window, and eased along the terrace, glancing back to make sure the Nabs-witchfire was still following.

"Just keep up, okay?"

The witchfire said nothing.

Rajo ran.

\- o - O - o -

They didn't make it to the grotto before twilight became full night. Rajo stayed on the shadow-roads anyway, though their lungs burned and their knees ached and twisted creatures roared from the verges of the road and leapt after them like hungry moldorm.

Rajo didn't dare stop to fight. Every time one of the creatures got close enough to swipe at them, they dropped into a somersault and kept running. Nabs' gem continued to shine, and the Nabs-witchfire followed, even when they crashed through the screen of silverleaf and thornroot at the mouth of the grotto.

"Mother of Sands," said Rajo prayed, unwinding the gem from their stiff fingers as the nightmare creatures snarled and tore at the branches. They thrust the gem into the witchfire and banished the shadows, saying Nabooru's name over and over as the world wobbled and twisted.

"What? Stop saying my name, I'm right here." Nabs snapped, slapping their hand away. "Fine, I'll follow you, you didn't have to blow the lantern out. I can't see anything."

Rajo blew a long breath through their nose and kicked sand at her. "Shut up. Just - shut up."

Nabs swore at them.

Rajo called the wandering fire, shaping it into a little ball and lofting it into the air above their shoulder.

Nabs swore again, her eyes wide in the flickering gold light. "Where are we? What did you do?"

"Come on," said Rajo, heading deeper into the damp grotto.

Nabs followed, trailing one hand against the smooth stone wall of the curving entrance. She stopped swearing when the grotto opened into the larger chamber, with the dripping pool on one side and the blackened fire circle in the middle, and the pile of rugs and crates and jars against the back wall.

"Is this it? Is this the place you saw?"

Nabs shook her head and blinked a few times, running her hand over her face. "Yeah," she said at last. "This is it. How did you know?"

Rajo shrugged. "You think about it a lot. And you dream loud. Is this your secret place, like the observatory cave?"

Nabs frowned. "No. I've never been here before - I only saw it once-"

"In the blue light." Rajo paced around the cold fire circle. "What did he say to you, before the stone flashed?"

Nabs shook her head.

"You have to tell me - it's important," said Rajo.

"What does this have to do with the fever? With all those books? The potions?"

"I don't know yet," said Rajo with a shrug. "But we can talk here. No one can hear us. Tell me everything you remember about the vision."

"You think he brought the plague," said Nabs, staring at a patch of dirt between her and the fire ring. Where she saw blood in her dreams, and a monster made of light.

"No," said Rajo. "I think the bad magic did. Potions only make the red cough last longer - they don't help at all. Even the strongest one."

Nabooru frowned. "How did you find this place? And how did you bring me here? This isn't something the Rova taught you-"

"The Rova don't know everything," said Rajo, stopping in the place she was staring so she'd have to meet their eyes. "You're going to keep it secret, too."

Nabooru tightened her jaw so hard the tendons in her neck stood out, and her knuckles went white with the fury she held in her fists. "It smelled like burning. More than a little fire like that. I couldn't see the ceiling, and the fire was behind the spirit and the dead prince-"

"How did you know it was the prince?"

"I just knew, ok?" Nabs snapped. "He said he could prove himself, but when he pulled out the blue stones, that's what I saw."

"What did he say?"

Nabs shrugged. "Which one?"

"Both," said Rajo, watching her face.

She looked away. "The vision-spirit spoke nonsense riddles, and said I shouldn't have come. And then there was a roaring, and pain, and a wall of water, and I couldn't breathe. So I hit him."

Rajo paced around the cold fire circle again, thinking. "You remember the riddle."

Nabs sighed. " _Bad things. Had to. Bad tomorrows. Fixed it._ Over and over until the roaring shut him up."

"And before the blue light? You have to tell me. It's important."

"The boy-spirit said he knew things. Said he came to help find the sisters lost in the Sands. Said he came to save us from the monster in the Temple. Which is dumb, because we haven't had a sage in generations, and no one even goes there anymore."

Rajo frowned. Link only spoke of monsters in his stories of Hyrule. Everything else was always 'bad magic'. "The Rova go there."

"Yeah," said Nabs, digging her toes against the sandy floor of the grotto. "They don't count."

"Why not?"

"They're different. The Rova aren't like other Geldo."

"Neither am I," said Rajo, standing tall. "If he can stop a light-monster too strong for the Rova tomorrow, he can stop the plague _now_."

"Rajo - spirits are dangerous," Nabs began.

"Then I will be more dangerous," said Rajo, opening the shadow-roads.


	18. Come Unto These Yellow Sands : 9

_Long ago tomorrow when the moon would fall, the hurting one stole a precious thing. With beauty they will make sadness, with joy they make crookedness, with truth they made sorrows._

 _People will become angry where they had loved, and bad things filled every tomorrow, and every tomorrow after that, until the end of everything._

 _The tomorrow magic was sung, and still the hurting one danced pain._

 _The sun was sung dancing, and everything will be the same. The skin of the lost one becomes the stranger, and everyone forgets._

 _In the long ago tomorrows of deathless dreaming, even the moon would fall at the end, and the end, and the end._

\- o - O - o -

The green sky opened with a great shattering roar, hurling darkness and cold upon everything that lived. The people hid, whispering to one another that the black wind could not come in winter. They told their children the storm would pass, and they sat together around fires as small as hope, singing the dawn.

The wind fell silent, and the people prayed.

One shadow among many raced through the swift-falling night, weaving a fragile path toward the light as the worlds of the living and the dead exchanged crowns. Red lightning sparked along the crags the people called Serpent's Rest, and vanished between the Sister Stones. The rain spat once more, and stopped. A child stood on the Dragon's Stairs holding a shard of light in their hands.

"Wait here," said the child to the light. "I will take away his blue magic, first."

The child and the light parted ways, taking more solid form with every step as the wind held her breath. The light stretched and faded, and a young woman with bright eyes and broad shoulders pressed her back against the cold stone of the Dragon Stairs. The darkness held her in silence, and whatever prayers rose to the golden gods that night remain forever secret.

"So it didn't work," said the boy in the cave.

"I gave the bottle to Angnu," said the child standing at the edge of the cave. "But she only drank half."

"She fell asleep?"

"Yeah," began the child.

"Maybe she will have good dreams," said the boy. "You can't save everyone."

"She stopped moving," said the child, wrapping their fist around the blade half-hidden in their cloak. "You said the blue potion heals everything."

The boy in the cave bent over his shining flute, brushing away imaginary dust. "Everything that _can_ be healed. But some things, once begun, can only be _stopped_."

"So why didn't it stop?"

The boy smiled, but it was not a nice smile. "Everything has a price."

The child frowned, pacing a tight circuit on the highest terrace of the Stairs. "How much do you want, spirit? A thousand rupees? Ten thousand? Temples? Feasts? Songs?"

"I'm not a spirit," said the boy, tucking his flute into his dark tunic.

"Whatever," said the child. "Why didn't the blue potion work?"

"I don't know," said the boy. "Did you ask the fairy?"

The child stopped pacing, glaring into the shadows of the cave. "I went to the place you said, and I waited, but there was nothing, not even when I sang for her."

The boy sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "Then I am too late."

The child approached the threshold, but did not cross. "Why is the stupid fairy so important? The red cough is part of the bad magic - your enemy. You _know_ _things_ \- where it comes from and where it's weakest - if you won't fix it, show _me_ and _I_ will do it."

The boy pushed to his feet, stalking into the uncanny stillness with his wide blue eyes fixed on the child. They stared at each other a long time in the dark, while a young woman with steel in her fists asked her neglected gods for a sign.

"Take me to Angnu," said the boy.

\- o - O - o -

"Wait here," said the child to the light. "I will take away his blue magic, first."

The child and the light parted ways, becoming more solid with every step. The light stretched and faded, and a young woman with bright eyes and broad shoulders pressed her back against the cold stone of the Dragon Stairs. The darkness held her in silence, and the wind dug her talons into the living rock, and waited.

"Why this one," said the boy in the cave. "Why do you care about this _one_ when there are a hundred thousand million other people who will suffer?"

"Why not," said the child, winding their fist around their curved short sword. "Why should I care more about someday strangers than people _right now_? The blue potion didn't change anything - you said-"

"I said, it heals _almost_ everything," said the boy in the cave, his wide eyes reflecting the faint blue light in the depths of the cliffside cave. "Tell me why, for this _one_ , you will not accept fate. What makes Angnu special?"

"Fate is stupid," said the child, but they retreated half a step under the press of those unwavering eyes. "Why does she have to be special before you will help? You _know things_ about the bad magic but you hide everything in stupid riddles, wasting time-"

"I can't help her," said the boy, lingering at the cave mouth. "She's dead, Rajo."

"No," said Rajo, drawing their shortblade. "Bring your stupid blue magic - Nabs will open the medicine hall for you-"

"It's too late," said the boy, gesturing with bloody hands. "Can't you see the miasma? The whole fortress is mired already-"

"No," said Rajo. "I see _you_. You say there is a bad magic, that you fix bad things. Fix _this_."

"I can't," said the boy. "Light will hold it back, a little, but there is no cure."

"No," howled Rajo, slashing at the darkness between them. The boy did not flinch, even when sparks of red lightning gathered and hissed. " _You_ did this - you find the bad magic everywhere because it's coming from _you_."

The boy shook his head sadly. "Why can't you be good?"

"Good," spat Rajo, advancing on the boy as lightning danced in their hair. "If your _good_ can't help Angnu or anyone, _fine_. We don't need it. I don't need it. I don't need anyone. I will open the place of the golden gods' dreaming and _I_ will fix it. Then you'll be sorry."

The boy screamed, long and horrible, and the young woman with steel in her fists raced up the Dragon's Stairs too late to see the spiral made of many-colored light begin its inexorable arc. She did not cry, but raised her fragile blades against the bright nightmare ahead, and kept running.

\- o - O - o -

"Wait here," said the child to the light. "I will take away his blue magic, first."

The child and the light parted ways. A young woman with bright eyes and broad shoulders pressed her back against the cold stone as a child in sun's heart purple climbed the Dragon Stairs. The darkness pressed down upon them, and the wind hid behind the veil of the storm.

A warrior spirit clothed in light emerged from the cave at the top of the stairs, and a trail of blood followed him. The child paused for only three heartbeats, and climbed on. They stood before the silent warrior spirit, and raised their chin with pride.

"I have seen you before," said the child.

"And you have already chosen," said the shining warrior, resting his terrible spiral sword on the stones at his feet.

"If you don't take the plague away," said the child, wrapping their small brown fist around the hilt of their curved shortblade. "I will go into the Sands and get a magic that _can_."

"And what will you do with such power?"

"Everything you won't," said the child, baring their teeth. "I will find the source of the bad magic-"

"It's you," said the light warrior with a sorrowing sigh. "It is _always_ you, Ganondorf."

The young woman with steel in her fists held her breath, and the storm began slowly to turn, sparking red lightning deep within its dark heart.

"It is a strong name," said Ganondorf. "And I will be the strongest King."


	19. Come Unto These Yellow Sands: 10 : T 1

Ganondorf raced down through the narrow, treacherous streets of the degenerate capital, urging the stallion to find another burst of speed after every turn. The rain hammered against both of them, and the cobbles ran red with the blood of fallen soldiers. No doubt whatever the sheikah scorpion flew this way.

And so he followed, thinking only forward, only to what could be salvaged. She took the princess alive - so she was exactly as important as he suspected. He'd seen the storm reflected in Zelda's wide blue eyes, when she thought he couldn't see her. The voice in the blue stone wanted her, and so did Ganondorf.

Whatever secrets the insufferable Hylian overking took to his death no longer mattered. By law, his worldly power passed to the sheltered, pious, maiden princess even now in the scorpion's pincers.

But.

More important the pathetic laws of little kings, more important than the guardians of the keystones, was the spell to wake them. She was the last chain binding the spirits in service to the hateful Hylians, and she alone among mortals knew the key to open the gates of the Sacred Realm, and the great weapon hidden within it. The weapon that could change the shape of the world. The greatest gift of the golden goddesses, which neither god nor demon could wield, and all of them justly feared.

The creaking clattering boom of the drawbridge falling made his heart stop. The scorpion pulled further ahead of him than she had any right to do, even with all the blood and greed fueling her magic. He spurred the stallion on, but it was too late. The rain came all the harder as he pulled up short, growling back at the thunder.

The road held nothing but splashing mud and one small child.

 _Long ago tomorrow, death will come to the deathless place. The guardian becomes sadness, but the King will not hear the forest._

"You, over there. Little kid," shouted Ganondorf. "You must have seen the white horse gallop past just now. Which way did it go? Answer me!"

The boy in the the colors of the forest stepped back, and a glitter of blue light flickered behind his shoulder, with a hint of bells. The rain poured over his face, but his wide eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying. Ganondorf looked at him, and remembered another child crying, long ago.

"So," he said, smiling. "You think you can protect them from me."

The boy in green raised his fragile chin, but said nothing.

"You've got guts," said Ganondorf to the brave forest boy.

The boy drew a small, leaf-shaped blade with his left hand, wiping snot from his nose with the back of the other.

Ganondorf laughed.


	20. That You Might See Your Shadow: 1 : T-21

Link pressed his back against the sun-warmed rock and prayed for strength. The sounds from the box canyon below unsettled him deeply - everything about the situation felt wrong. Yet he knew he couldn't interfere.

He'd tried that already.

The world needed Ganondorf in it, for reasons known only to the gods.

Link no longer wondered how Gan went to the bad, but how he managed to have any good in him at all, even as a child. His origins were anything but bright - but Link was determined to find a way to nurture that besieged light.

Somehow.

For Hyrule.

This time he'd traveled back further than ever before, stalking the fierce desert thieves for years on end. Link understood now, why the Gerudo stole, and why they guarded what little they had so violently. He watched from shadows at the edges of their lives, standing apart from the ebb and flow of war over the borders, the births and deaths of countless strangers, the indifferent dance of the stars as he waited for the King to be born.

The true King.

Link buried his hands in his pockets, running one thumb over the worn marble cat-stone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the wind.

The wind ignored him, as it had a hundred thousand times before.

Even when they were young, Koume and Kotake held profound influence over their people, and an abiding hatred for Hyrule and all it represented. Unlike the Terminan witches, they were wickedness all the way down. They didn't just enjoy shocking people, they enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering - and they were both greedy and ambitious. It wasn't enough for them to lead the council of elder mothers. They craved absolute dominion - and they spent decades grooming a series of false puppet princes towards that end long before Gan was born. Each iteration lasted longer than the last, but every one of them ended in disaster. Undaunted, they erased all evidence of their failures and started over with another child.

Or… _most_ of the evidence.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd tried to convince Nabooru to tell him - well, anything useful at all about Gan's early history. Or her own.

Now he understood why.

Bad enough his mother fell so easily to temptation, worse still how thoroughly greed took root as the Rova remade her into a Prince. Like other princes before, shortly after the coronation which was supposed to invest them with all the King's traditional powers, the madness came, and the tragic death of their lover.

The six-year old Nabooru's mother.

The Rova promised miracles.

The King believed - and what emerged from the Spirit Temple three days later wasn't even human anymore.

But Nabooru was six years old now. So the tragedy he couldn't stop was almost over - and the one he had to stop was about to begin.

Far below, a young thief wrapped in sand-colored wool crept around thornbrush and boulders, following the King's footprints. She'd hidden her long hair in veils, and she moved so carefully he'd have never seen her if he wasn't wearing the mask of truth. He wished he could spare her what she was about to discover - but he'd tried that, too.

He clutched the marble cat in his fist, and prayed.

This was the fourth time he'd followed the King to this hidden lair during this endless stalk. He wasn't sure which part was worse: that Ganondorf's sire wasn't entirely human, or that the no-longer-human King enjoyed the fact. And here he was, eavesdropping on it. He felt filthy inside and out. Yet what could he do?

Eventually, the affair would seed a child, and the pregnancy would drive the King further yet into madness. Nabooru would have to stand witness to it - or else the King would succeed in destroying Ganondorf before he could ever begin.

Link had tried that, too.

He flinched as the cries of blasphemous passions rose on the gentle winds of twilight, and prayed one day the nightmares would finally end.


	21. That You Might See Your Shadow: 2 :T-20

A tiny voice raised its fury to meet the dawn, and at last, Link's long wait was over. He pulled the painted mask over his face, and joined his voice to the other. Fitting, that it would begin in pain. Again.

He carved a new door in the wall, twirling the sword in wide arcs. Magic flared from the twisted blade, wrecking screens and pottery, and generally terrifying the women attending the fateful royal birth.

" _ **Fear not,**_ " he said, knowing when he said it they would feel exactly the reverse. Last time, he'd tried it the other way around - that only made them determined to fight, and he couldn't help accidents when they fought him.

"An omen!"

"A spirit!"

"A demon!"

Seven-year old Nabooru, though, never admitted she was afraid of anything. She picked up a shield-drum painted with sky-and-fire colors in the pattern they called the Gods' Teeth, and drew her short knife.

" _ **Stand aside, little one,**_ " he said, hoping his accent wasn't too horrible. " _ **I come for the sake of the People.**_ "

"No Hylian ever does anything good for us," she shouted. "Go away, ghost, or I'll banish you, I will!"

Link twirled the sword in the air, cutting a neat hole in the roof and slicing to bits the stone which fell from the center. Women screamed, and someone tried to convince the King to find the strength to rise from the birthing chair.

" _ **I cannot be banished, little one, because I am always with you.**_ "

"Why?"

Link bowed, careful to keep the sword grounded as he did. " _ **The golden gods sent me, for love of the People.**_ "

That raised a new murmur, though still the women huddled around the Kings - true and false - as if their bodies would ever be enough to shield them.

"You're lying," said Nabooru, raising her blade in warning. "What are you really?"

He had no doubt whatever she would try to kill him if he couldn't persuade her to stand down. She'd done it in a hundred different times already. Gan wasn't crying anymore - he was almost out of time. The Rova would arrive soon, and he would fail again.

" _ **I am the tears the good gods have wept for the People,**_ " he said. " _ **I am the dreams of those who have been, and the hopes of those who will be. And I am come for the child of prophecy.**_ "

"You can't have him," she screamed, stamping her bare foot on the stones. "My baby brother will be a good king!"

 _There_ \- the woman in red was trying to sneak away in the chaos.

Link smiled at Nabooru, and raised the ocarina to his lips. This time, everything would be different.

\- o - O - o -

A week later, Link dropped to his knees in the dust of the trade road, certain he could not possibly take another step. Gan mumbled in his sleep, biting Link's shirt. He was hungry - of course he was hungry. The enchanted milk had run out early that morning, and Link had nothing more to give him.

He bowed his head, and tried not to think about the dried meat in his belt pouch. If Gan couldn't eat, he shouldn't either.

He tried not to think about the mask packed away safely in the saddlebags he carried over one shoulder. Almost two decades to wait before Epona would be foaled, let alone ready to carry even a small rider. Until then it would be his own feet - or those of a conquered god.

Link shivered, and pulled himself back to his feet. Any amount of pain was better than being seen as a monster.

He took one step, and then another, clutching the worn white marble in his fist, and prayed they would reach the goat farm before nightfall.


	22. That You Might See Your Shadow : 3

Idrea wrapped a thick blanket around his shoulders, even though it was a mild summer evening, and pressed another bowl of tea into his hands. "Do you think you can keep food down yet?"

Link winced. "Sorry about that."

Idrea smiled, and tried vainly to brush his hair out of his eyes. Why did women always do that?

"Let him be," said Corfo, just barely louder than the creaking of his rocking chair. His daughter Lamis had fallen asleep in his lap, 'helping' her father hold the baby Gan. Who was also fast asleep. "Hate t' think what he's seen, and him no bigger than our Ensren."

"I'm almost twelve," said Link, a little desperately.

"Of course you are, poor dear," said Idrea, sinking her hands into her deep apron pockets. She didn't believe him. "Maybe some soup? Nice pumpkins and onions - no bones at all."

"Thanks," said Link. "I can pay-"

"I won't hear of it," snapped Idrea, turning with a whirl of skirts and stalking off to her kitchen. She had a whole wing of the little house to work _her_ magic, floored with fine worked slate and lit with dozens of clever mirrored lanterns.

"Mmm," said Corfo. "Gone and offended her, you have. That, you will have to pay for, stranger."

"Sorry," said Link, setting aside the tea. "It's just - I don't know what to do now. For my brother, I mean. We can't go back -"

"Out of the question," sang Idrea from the kitchen. She had the ears of a highborn Hylian, for all she was round in every part.

"Mmm no, that certainly won't do. Two little boys walking towards a war? If I was your father, I'd surely make you eat a whole brick of soap afore I let you do any such thing."

"I was thinking," said Link, "If I could buy some milk, maybe we could go to Termina."

"Termina!" Idrea's tone left no doubt of her disapproval.

"Na- Er. Momma said she had a cousin that-"

"Termina," said Idrea again, rattling dishes.

"You ever seen a map, boy?" Corfo murmured, though he looked halfway asleep himself.

"Lots," said Link. "It's not so bad. Just go west. Easier if we had a horse. Do you have a horse, sir?"

"Mmm, we got a mule. But we'll be keeping her, as she's our best hand aside of Ensren."

Ensren, their son, who was shooing the chickens into their coop for the night. Ensren, who was _nine_.

Link sighed, looking around the parlor. It was a nice little house, maybe even a little nicer than Malon's, On account of its size and all the rugs, though he felt bad for thinking it.

But they weren't rich, Corfo and Idrea.

Link pulled at the laces of his tunic and shirt, popping a few stitches in his haste. He wasn't sure how much horses cost, but surely there were enough gems on the pectoral to buy a mule.

Corfo didn't even open his eyes until Link knelt at his side. He blinked owlishly at the gold and gems, and eventually found his tongue. "You know her name?"

"The mule?"

"The cousin," said Corfo.

"No - I mean. Yes. Aveil. Aveil is m- my brother's mother's… Cousin."

"And I'm the queen of Hyrule," said Idrea. "Let the babies sleep, and come have some soup before you waste away."

"It's true-" said Link, ashamed of how his voice squeaked in this body. He'd forgotten that.

Idrea planted her fists on her ample hips. "A dear boy like you was most certainly not raised by any cousin of that infamous pirate. Now stop trying to give away your mother's jewelry before her ghost flies out here to box your ears for the disrespect, and try to eat some soup."

"But…"

"Your brother ate his dinner like a good boy," she said. "Seeing as you're five times his age , surely you can be five times as good."

"Twelve," he sighed, getting to his feet.

"Do your best," murmured Corfo, setting his chair in motion again. "You've a long day tomorrow."

Link smiled. "So I can buy the mule?"

"You can feed her," he said. "And the goats. Ensren will show you how it's done."

Link stared in disbelief. Gan - impish thing that he was, already - cracked open his golden eyes, and yawned enormously.

So much for plans.


	23. That You Might See Your Shadow: 4 : T-10

"Wake up, Link, wake _UP_! The sun has been up for a whole hour and today the Beedle is coming. You don't want to miss a Beedle day, do you?"

"Mmrrrf," said Link, pulling the pillow over his head.

Which Gan promptly stole.

"Up- come on, up! Mom made nut cake too - With cream! - But you have to hurry or Ensren is gonna eat it all."

"Not hungry," said Link, turning to face the wall.

"Pfft," said Gan, half-climbing the bunk to get a fistful of the blankets. So he could steal them. "If you never eat how are you ever going to be a _real_ big brother? Come on, Link, it's a _Beedle Day_."

"Fine," said Link. Gan was _impossible_ any time the red-nosed peddler came through on his circuit. Or any time Gan _thought_ the peddler would come through. Or the library wagon. Or the wild-haired artificer and his wife the farrier. Or town guards during a training stint. Or a bet.

"If you don't get up, I'll let Taedra put honey in your hair."

"You won't," he said, twisting to look over his shoulder.

"Will too. And she'll love me for it. She's been wanting to see if you match the honey-pot all week." Gan had one arm hooked around the bunk's oiled corner-post, eyes bright with mischief. He'd already braided his hair back, kept tidy with green-eyed snake combs, and he was wearing all four snake earloops. And some kind of - shawl?

"Are you wearing-"

"Don't be stupid, Mom said it was ok." Gan used his distraction to grab his ankle. "Come on, Link, or we'll miss _everything_."

\- o - O - o -

They didn't miss anything at all. In fact, all six of them were waiting in the paddock by the road nearly two hours before the Beedle Wagon even rolled out of the forest. Like always.

That didn't stop Gan from proposing a race to see who could touch the wagon first. Lamis leapt over the fence to claim the best starting place, and Taedra cheered for Link to win - though he'd never won a fair race in her life. Roan swaggered to the turnstile, climbing over it with a flourish. Ensren leaned against the fence with little Taedra, claiming he was still busy digesting breakfast.

Link took his place in line, trying to regain the spirit of the game. It was always hardest to remember how in the mornings. Gan started the count - and Lamis giggled. Roan started to whine, but the others shushed him, making Gan lose count. Link glared at Gan - who only smiled, and started counting.

He turned his attention to the road ahead, trying to focus on the freshness of the morning and the condition of the road. Hadn't rained in a week, footing seemed good. Not that it would really matter. They all knew who would win - but this was one of their oldest games.

"Go-!"

Link launched into a flat run, letting his mind empty of everything but the road, the next step, the next breath. He shut out the sound of pounding feet passing to either side of him, closing his eyes to the morning, letting go of all desire.

And for a moment - he was free.

Then something hit him - a wall, if one had suddenly decided to exist in the middle of the road - and the world went gray as he fell.


	24. That You Might See Your Shadow : 5

"Link. Wake up Link. Come on, wake up -"

"Wake up, stupid. This isn't funny anymore."

"Don't try to move him-"

"I'll be careful -"

"It's not about careful, Gan - get back, all of you."

"Wake up, big brother - why isn't he waking up Ensie?"

"He just stayed up past his bedtime I'm sure - Taedra - how about you go see if Da needs help carrying the Beedle Box?"

"But I don't wanna-"

"Go help Da, I said."

" _Fiiinnneee._ "

"Wake up - come on - you're missing Beedle Day -"

"His hand just moved - I'm sure of it-!"

"Don't tell lies, Roan."

"But I'm not lying. Look - there he goes again - look - his eyes too -"

"Link-!"

"That's right little brother, come on back. Not nap time yet."

"Nnrgh-" said Link.

"Yeah. You've got it. Here, Roan, hold his hand, yeah? Good, stay here, keep talking to him till Da gets here ok?"

"But Ensrie-"

"But he's _MY_ brother-"

"Not just yours. Come here Gan, just a minute. You don't want to make him worse do you?"

"No but-"

"I said, come over here. And tell me exactly what happened. Quietly. Before Da gets here."

"Ensrie-"

"I mean it Gan. You know how grownups are. You have to tell me what happened, so I can talk to Da. So we can fix it."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know. But you have to tell me."

"I just wanted to let him win. But he wasn't looking. The horses-"

"I know, but what did you _do-_? I can't hear you."

"I said, I don't know. I just - the Beedle wasn't on the driving box, but the horses were running - and drooling and he wasn't listening and - I just - I had to make him _stop_ \- I didn't mean to -"

"I know, shh, it's ok. I know. We're brothers, remember? You just have to remember you were born a little different than us. You have to be careful about wishes, Gan."

"I won't forget."


	25. That You Might See Your Shadow : 6

Link sat on the fence rail between Ensrie and Da Corfo, wrapped in a wool blanket even though it was summer. He was sweating, but the blanket made other people feel better. Like they were doing something. Even when there wasn't anything that could be done.

Link understood that.

They'd decided Ma Idrea didn't need to know what had happened. Taedra would surely say something to her, but as long as the rest of them stood together, she'd let it go. Eventually.

Lamis seemed to have forgotten already, but what was a little concussion when the Beedle had glass marbles with flowers caught in the middle, and ribbons with different colors on each side, and bright tempera powder all the way from Termina City.

Then again, she was only thirteen. An afternoon for her was an age, enough for whole dynasties to rise and fall in her games.

Link merely _looked_ thirteen.

The Beedle finally gave up trying to mediate the boys' argument about which set of throwing knives was superior, and which set of painted wooden soldiers was a fitting consolation for whoever had to buy the second-best of the knives. He threw his hands in the air, declaring they'd rob him blind if they ever agreed on anything, and walked over to join the grownups.

"Pleasure to see you in good health, Corfo."

"Likewise. Especially after your horses-"

"Damndest thing, that was - and my fillies are generally the sweetest things. I'd just stepped down for a moment - as you do, now and again, on a long road - and whoosh-! There they went."

"Lucky then, our Link is good with creatures," said Corfo.

The Beedle smiled. "Just so. And how is my favorite fairy-boy this summer?"

Link frowned. No one but Ensren and the Beedle ever called him that, and Ensren only teased him when he'd done something _really_ stupid. "Fine."

"Fine is good, yes, but how would you like to be more than fine, my boy?"

"Nothing wrong with bein' fine," Corfo murmured in his quiet way.

"Oh, certainly not, never would suggest it. Fine is fine, I always say. It's just my way of sayin' I brought something along special, just for this stop."

Ensren shifted against the fence, glancing up at Link, and said "Sure, and for a price as pretty as the day, too."

The Beedle laughed, showing his empty palms. "A man has to make a living, by whatever road. But this - no, there will be no charge. You lot are practically family, young Ensrie. I've come down this road in every season since before you were even thought of, my boy."

"That you have," said Corfo. "Fortune grant we see you for as many more."

"You're a good man, Corfo. Idrea holds a treasure greater than any other I've seen in my travels, and that is the gods' own truth," said the Beedle. "But the _second-greatest_ treasure I've ever seen, I brought just for you, Link."

"What is it?"

The Beedle smiled. "Do you want to see it? As soon as I laid eyes on it, I said, Beedle I said - you have to acquire that. Whatever the price, if you do not buy that at once, you might as well retire to the desolate wastes to live out the rest of your days as a hermit, I said."

Corfo laughed. "You'd last a week, old friend."

"Indeed I would, and meet my bitterest end at the close of it, I would. Which is why to avoid such a terrible fate is why I _did_ buy the treasure, and wrap it up special so no one would guess what a fabulous thing is was, and try to buy it from me until I could bring it to my favorite fairy-boy for his birthday."

"It's not my birthday," said Link.

"It never is, is it?" The Beedle smiled, but shook his head as he turned away. "Young master Gan - fetch us that parcel from inside the wagon - you know the one, which I showed you after the illuminated Bestiary?"

Gan whooped with joy, handing off the box of soldiers to a startled Roan. Even Lamis stared like he'd gone mad, as Gan ran back into the wagon. Link let the blanket fall, looking to Ensren and Corfo, but they both shrugged. Whatever secret Gan had plotted with the Beedle, clearly neither had breathed a word of it to anyone else.

Link climbed down from the fence, standing beside the Beedle as Gan ran up the hill to meet them. Breathless, he handed the teardrop-shaped green-and-gold parcel to the Beedle, who bowed like a gleeman and presented it to Link.

Link hated to even touch it, but seven pairs of eyes were watching to see what he did next. So he pulled the string away and laid the parcel on the grass to unwrap it. The brightly patterned brocade on the outside gave way to yards and yards of fine blue linen within, which Ma Idrea would surely want for curtains. But that wasn't the treasure.

Link almost choked when he unwrapped the purple-wrapped handle, and count twenty before he could go on. If he took any longer, he was worried Gan would bite clean through his tongue with the strain of trying to stay quiet. Even Roan was silent for once, standing at Gan's shoulder, and Lamis beside him.

"Not a sword," he said, unwinding the last twist of cloth.

"A net," said Roan. "What's so special about a net?"

"It's _pretty_ , stupid," said Lamis.

"Never thought in my life I'd see true Cloudisle silk," said Corfo.

"Well," said the Beedle. "What do you think, fairy boy? Will it do?"

Link lifted the beautiful butterfly net so the wind would fill it, completely at a loss for any other response.

"Will it do _what?_ " Roan whined. "Why won't anyone explain what's special about a net?"

The Beedle clicked his tongue in censure. "Didn't you ever notice your big brother was something special?"

"Well, yeah. So he's little. So what?"

Ensren sighed, and by unspoken agreement, he and Corfo and Beedle herded Roan and Lamis back to the wagon to finish selecting treasures.

"You did this," said Link, when they were well down the hill.

Gan shrugged, but his eyes gave him away. "I just told him a story. He did all the important stuff."

"What story," said Link, resting the sunbleached birchbark frame on his shoulder.

Gan looked away, his long red braids swinging in the breeze. "Remember the wondertales you used to read to me, before I could read for myself? I told him the one about the forest spirits and the fairies."

Link felt ice down his spine. "There wasn't a story about forest spirits-"

"Not in the books, no."

"Why?"

"Because, you're my brother," said Gan, digging up a clump of duckgrass with the toe of his boot. He really did look ridiculous with that garish orange shawl pinned at his shoulders like a cloak made by someone who didn't know what cloaks were for. "Now you can catch a fairy of your own."


	26. That You Might See Your Shadow: 7 : T-5

Link padded down the twisting hallway towards Gan's room, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard where the stairs began. There were only six steps, but they were both deep and tall, to suit their owner. Corfo had taken Link aside two years ago, after Gan's last growth season, which ended with him teasing Ensren about not being the biggest anymore. They'd walked all the way to the east pasture, talking about nothing, until nearly twilight.

Then Corfo asked how tall his son was likely to get.

Link told him. What else could he do?

They called on Ensren and his wife at neighboring farm on the way back. They started digging for the foundation posts of the new wing the very next day.

Gan loved his birthday present that year, even though it wasn't a surprise at all, and he'd even been conscripted to help carry and set joists and beams. Ma Idrea teased him, pretending to complain about the boys turning her house into a castle, but it was her idea to make the addition round, with a flat roof for Gan's looking-glass. And she did sew the banners, though it was Lamis' idea to paint them.

At fifteen, Gan still loved playing pretend with Taedra and Link, and Ensren's twins, though these days he wore mostly black 'just in case' he needed to be their wicked sorcerer or captive prince. And they loved it - even bringing their friends into the game on holidays. Roan liked to pretend he was too grown-up for games, but nobody ever believed him. He was usually the strategist behind the twins' pranks anyway.

Link didn't like those games much anymore.

Gan's door was open - he was in a good mood today, then. Link held his breath as he snuck through the door, careful not to jostle his burden too much. It wasn't much of a gift, but he couldn't let the day roll past without giving him _something_.

"It's a good thing you weren't born a thief," Gan rumbled without looking up from his books. His voice had started dropping last winter, and he took every advantage of the fact.

"You're no fun," said Link, circling around the latest experiment taking up half the room to reach Gan's desk. Gan had his hair up in a high horsetail today, tied with wide mustard-gold and sky-blue ribbon exactly matching the garish floral print of his lace-edged neckcloth and the lining of his vest. At least the fashionable half-cloak draped over the back of his chair was solid blue wool on one side and gold silk on the other.

Lamis would approve. She'd probably even bring him a nosegay of cornflowers to match.

Gan laughed, tipping back his enormous horseapple wood chair onto two legs as he set his pen back in the inkpot. "I'm plenty of fun. Ask anyone. What'd you find?"

Link bit his lip, and set the delicate wire cage on the desk. The dayfly caught inside fluttered, spiraling up to the top of its cage, and floating back down to rest on the clump of spiderwort Link had dug up for it.

Gan stared at it for a long moment, golden eyes unreadable. "How?"

Link shrugged, nodding toward the ant empire Gan kept on the shelf by his massive bed. "Same as always. My net has magic."

Gan snorted, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "It doesn't, but maybe you do. I have something for you too, Link."

Link frowned up at him. "It's _your_ birthday."

"Which means I'm king today, and you have to do what I say. It's the rules. So bring your stool over so I can show you."

Link stood on tiptoe to see what Gan had been working on. Like his notes on the vast pinboard hung between the arched windows, the book on Gan's desk was full of elaborate charts and tiny letters. This one was in Hylian - but when he turned the page, the very next drawing was an elaborate mechanism he knew too well. He ran his fingers over the ink, but the toothed gears remained.

"That's just a new kind of lock, nothing very interesting," said Gan, dropping his chair back to the floor with a resounding thump. "Go on, get your stool."

He was impossible when he was excited about something.

Link trudged across the room for his tall chair - Lamis made it for him, sized exactly right so he could sit just as high as Gan whenever he wanted. Of course, being Lamis, she had to paint it. At least he'd managed to persuade her not to make it look like a tree, even if it would be funny.

Gan set the dayfly cage safely against the wall, with just the edge of it in the afternoon sunlight, admiring its beauty while Link got settled.

"Did you talk to Da about next week?"

"Yeah," said Link. "Taedra will do my chores as long as I bring back a honeycomb for her, and Ensren will do yours if you promise to help with the pumpkins, and the squash bugs."

"Good," said Gan, flipping his book closed and shuffling his papers off to the far corner with a grin. "I hid a jar of honey in the jewel box last time the Beedle came through, so we don't have to go through town at all."

Link frowned. "But I thought you wanted to see the fort-"

"Sure, but I found something even better," he said, prying up the lid of his desk, careful not to disturb the dayfly as he retrieved a single sheet of parchment. "There's an old shrine just three days' ride south of here. Everyone forgot about it when the river moved ages ago, but a caravan got lost in those woods a few years ago, and they saw the old gate-posts."

Link peered at the map - a faded thing, but nobody who knew the province could mistake it. Hundreds of little farms were carefully marked out in brown ink, mountains in a black that had gone purple wherever there was water damage. At the very south edge, new marks in chalk showed a winding path over wooded hills, and Gan's careful hand noting which journal went with the map.

"What's it for?"

Gan shrugged. "Probably somebody's ancestor. But maybe we'll be lucky, and it will be a hill-spirit, or a forest spirit, or maybe even a fairy."

Link smiled. "That would be nice."

Gan rolled his eyes, and prodded Link's shoulder. "It would be more than nice, and you know it. Is lunch ready yet?"

"Breakfast was only two hours ago," said Link, pretending to be exasperated like Idrea.

Gan was immune. "So?"

Link laughed, hopping down from his stool. "You have to pretend you're surprised."

Gan whooped, catching up the dayfly cage as he stood. "Come on then, let's take this little queen to her new castle."


	27. That You Might See Your Shadow : 8

Idrea met them at the end of the hall, bright and round as ever. "You look especially handsome this morning, my little prince."

Gan bent to kiss the top of her head, laughing. "Never so handsome as you, Momma. What's for breakfast?"

"You had breakfast already," she said, planting her fists on her hips as she stood aside to let them pass. " _And_ pie."

"No, certainly not. That was yesterday," he teased. "You must be losing your sight Momma, for surely that was my big brother Link who picked the lock on your pie cabinet and ate your strawberry pie down to the last crumbs. For which reason I have been designing a new lock for you _all morning_."

Link groaned. "I only had one slice, and _you're_ the one who picked the lock."

Idrea snorted. "You smell like strawberries, my son."

"Coincidence," he said with a winning smile, marching off towards the garden door.

Idrea sighed, petitioning the golden gods for patience - but she was laughing as she said it.

Link helped her set the table while Gan was busy coaxing the dayfly out of her cage and into the screened south garden. Another project of Gan's design, to have fruit for their table all year, and keep the birds from getting first pick of it. Every year he proposed another improvement to it, until it ran along two sides of the little house and it took them three days to build the straw walls around it every winter.

Gan wanted to build an even bigger one, with glass walls they could change out for screen ones when it was cold. Corfo said no, it was too expensive, and they argued fearsomely when Gan proposed taking the snake jewels to Termina City to sell. Corfo said it wasn't his decision to make, their mother's jewels would be divided between the brothers when they were old enough to marry, and that was that.

Link stayed with Ensren the rest of the week, so he wouldn't be tempted to tell the truth.

The thought brought the man, with his rose-cheeked wife and whirlwind children. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and Link joined them in a riotous game of chase while the real grownups talked until the roast cucco pies were ready.

If only they could stay like this forever, life would be perfect.

Gan claimed his usual low bench at the end of the table, folded lotus-fashion so he didn't loom quite so enormously tall. Link knelt on his own bench around the corner to his left, next to Ensrie's twins. Next came Ensrie and his wife, and their youngest - who wouldn't be the youngest much longer.

Corfo raised a toast to their health, sending Roan into the cellar for more cider to celebrate. Lamis sat at her father's right hand, with her sweetheart from the village. Idrea sat at her husband's left, when in fact she could be convinced to sit at all, and Taedra next to her. Taedra's three best friends filled the space between her and Roan, at Gan's right hand. As always. Roan was winter to Gan's summer, slender where Gan was broad, pale as he was dark, and even at fifteen he was only a head taller than Link. A fact he hated most passionately.

They all ate until they were stuffed silly, and then Idrea pressed them to eat still more, same as she did every quarter-day. And when no one could stand the thought of another bite, the conversation turned to news from town. Roan was mad for the army, and his store of gossip and 'Lieutenant so-and-so said' never seemed to run dry anymore. He even used the opportunity to press his suit to go to the officer's academy next year, though Gan smacked the back of his head in rebuke for trying to steal his day. Roan sulked, threatening to sell Gan's present back to the Beedle - so Gan told him to do it, and use the money to buy himself more brains.

Ensren shared news on the progress of the new water wheel, and Lamis presented Gan with a whole bolt of new cloth, woven all over with blue-green labyrinths and white flowers with red-orange hearts. She said it was woven with a new kind of loom, ten times as fast, but which took twenty times as long to thread, so it was easier just to build a new loom than to change the pattern it was set to weave all the time.

Taedra brought Gan books - a whole stack of novels, cheaply printed and loosely bound, but brought all the way from Termina City just that week. Ensren, on the other hand, gave him only two books, both old and plain. But Link watched Gan's face when he peered inside, and knew at once he lied when he boomed his enthusiasm for foreign clockworks and exotic plants.

They were magic books.

Idrea and Corfo presented no gift at all, declaring indeed, Gan was old enough now he should be starting to bring his parents presents instead. Everyone laughed - Gan as much as anyone, and he claiming that a whole week free from chores was the best present of all, and one day he'd give them the same holiday a hundred times over.

Corfo laughed. "And what would I do with two years of idleness?"

"Anything you like," said Gan.

Corfo shrugged. "We do that now."

Gan rolled his eyes. "I'm not a baby. You can't convince me untangling goats from fences and chasing down escaped cuccos is high adventure anymore. Wouldn't you like to see Termina City for yourself? Swim in the great sea? Go to a real theatre - and not just the solstice pageants?"

Idrea smiled. "What need have we to go to the trouble of going to see the world, when you dear children bring the world to us?"

"Just so," agreed Corfo. "And without the trouble of strange beds and jostling about with strangers. You'll understand when you're grown."

"I won't," said Gan, setting his jaw stubbornly. "Anyways I wanted to talk to you about the holiday. Since you're not going anywhere-"

"No," said Corfo, folding his hands over his belly.

Gan rolled his eyes. "I didn't even finish, Da-"

"You don't need to, answer's no," said Corfo, genial as anything. "Did you feed Molly and the rest before you sat down to your leisure?"

Gan frowned. "Roan was supposed to do that today-"

"I traded with Taedra," said Roan.

"Did not," Taedra snapped.

"Your Da needs the mules next week," said Idrea, grinning too brightly. "And that's the end of it. Now that we've eaten, you can take the slops to the yard on your way to the barn. Leave that cloak though, or I won't be the one cleaning it next."

"But Momma-"

"Don't disrespect your mother. Hop to, boy."

A hush fell over the table as Gan pushed back his bench and stood. Link swallowed hard - he knew that look. Gan popped the catch on his cloak-hooks, folding the cloth with barely suppressed violence. Corfo merely sat back in his chair, entirely unruffled by the fury in those golden eyes. Gan shoved the wool into Link's hands and stomped out of the room without another word.

He didn't slam the door, but rather left it hanging wide open as if he didn't trust himself not to.

The others exchanged nervous glances in the silence, but Link clutched the cloak to his chest and listened to Gan thumping his way across the porch.

"Da," he said, when he could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"Shhh," said Idrea, with a hushed giggle.

The other kids frowned harder, trying to puzzle out what had just happened.

Link counted twenty breaths until the squeak and rattle of the barn door cut through the silence. Idrea bit her lip, gathering her skirts to stand. Link couldn't wait any longer - he scrambled off the bench, running to the open door with his heart in his throat, clutching the cloak tightly.

Gan was nowhere to be seen. But the slops bucket lay on its side in the middle of the path right in front of the gaping maw of the bright red barn.

Link took one step onto the porch, and the afternoon rang with a war cry he'd hoped never to hear again. He dropped the cloak, stumbling to the far railing. The others poured out of the house which confused murmurs - except for Corfo and Idrea, who came to stand on either side of Link as thunder made flesh galloped from the barn, Gan astride bareback with his fists buried in the long black-and-silver mane.

Roan was the first to recover his wits, and he leapt the porch rail, hollering like mad. Taedra followed after, and the whirlwind twins, as Gan raced across the near pasture, scattering goats and chickens with reckless glee.

Ensren whistled. "Where did you ever find a horse like that, Da?"

"I didn't," he said. "Your mother did."


	28. That You Might See Your Shadow : 9

Gan refused to believe Link hadn't helped arrange his birthday gift, and Link couldn't bear to tell him the details that might convince him otherwise. Nor would he believe that dear sweet Ma Idrea had a distant cousin who made her living as a horse thief. As far as he was concerned, he was the only and best thief in the whole family, ever.

They reached the gate of the old shrine in four days, not three, but Gan was so pleased with his monstrously huge horse in every other way that Link didn't even bother trying to tell him he wasn't fooled by Gan's grumbling. He hadn't even picked a name for the creature yet, trying out a new one every hour, and even asking the horse for his opinion.

Link changed the subject when Gan tried to ask _him_.

They camped just outside the ruined gates, but less out of respect than necessity. Inside the rambling border of broken stones, the woods grew low and close, full of briars and triproot. Gan's enthusiasm overflowed - he was so full of theories about what they might find, that he could barely concentrate long enough to finish drawing copies of the worn inscriptions at the foot of the gate columns. Link helped him pace out the dimensions of the old walls, collecting and labeling samples from every kind of plant growing on either side - even common ones, just in case they were different.

Two days later, Gan was finally ready to look for the heart of the shrine - and Link carried the lantern with greater cheer than he expected. The sooner they found the reason the shrine was here, the sooner they could leave. Unless it was a great fairy, which in that case, the sooner they discovered her, the sooner they could find out how to restore her spring.

At first they thought there wasn't much of the building left, until Gan fell through a patch of ground Link had just walked over. He wasn't mad about it, even though he twisted his ankle in the fall, and had to hop all the way back to camp. Once he was asleep with a good dose of red potion, Link tucked the little bag of snake jewelry into his arms and prayed that the magic would know what to do. He waited for almost an hour, but he didn't see anything happen - not even Gan waking up in the night like he usually did. So he snuck away in the dark, using the mask of truth to find his way.

Where Gan fell, there was a hidden stairway. Or an overgrown one. The air below was damp, and he felt a flicker of hope that it was a forgotten fairy spring. But there were spiders - too many to fight past - so he turned back to camp, wondering if he should have dug up the _other_ mask.

Just in case.

The next day, Gan dressed in his working clothes, and together they cleared away the overgrowth until twilight. They'd already been gone a week - but Gan swore he'd confided their plan to Ensren, and he would cover for them another week and a half as long as they helped with the pumpkin harvest _and_ the preserving. For both houses.

So they stayed, and Gan's cheer made the hard work seem like just one more elaborate game, exactly suited to their shared love of exploration and riddles. Not that Gan had managed to translate much of the inscriptions - they were far too damaged, and he said they used strange rules, so words might not mean what they seemed to.

Gan took care of the spiders himself, in the end. Link wasn't sure whether he was more excited about clearing the entrance to the below, or that his fire-spell worked on such a grand scale. The deeper they explored, the more Gan used his secret magic to open the paths forward, until at last, they found a room that was different than all the rest. The walls were a different kind of stone than everything else, and they seemed to have a faint purple light of their own. It was hard to tell - because the floor shone like noon, scribed all over with symbols Link recognized from Gan's magic books.

Gan recognized them too, and he danced like a child again, ecstatic with the discovery.

Like the rest of the shrine, Gan could only read half the inscriptions, but the purpose of them was clear, even to Link. At the center of the room, suspended in midair for so long there were cobwebs stretching out from it in every direction, hung part of a strange mask.

Its single remaining eye seemed to follow Link wherever he stood, and he couldn't decide whether the top was meant to be a crown, or horns. Maybe both. Gan crept across the inscriptions on the floor, intent on examining the carvings covering every part of the strange mask.

Link couldn't follow.

He tried - but at the second ring, the magic flared, and made a wall of blue light that turned his stomach inside out. Gan ignored him, enthralled by the draw of the mask. He stared at it a long time, but he didn't touch it.

Link prowled around the seal-circle, looking for a weakness in the magic - but there was none.

"Gan, it's time to go," he said at last.

"Not yet - I've almost solved the riddle. Just another minute," said Gan.

"We can come back tomorrow. It's not going anywhere, yeah?"

Gan looked up, startled. "What did you just say?"

"I said, we can come back tomorrow."

"No," said Gan, frowning. "That's not what you said at all. You used different words."

"It's not going anywhere?"

Gan shook his head, taking a few steps away from the mask. "No, that's all wrong. Say it the same way you did before."

"I don't understand - you're being weird, Gan. Come on, let's go, yeah?"

Gan clapped his hands together, taking three long steps towards Link with a hungry look. "Yes - like that - _tell me what those words are_. _**Yeah**?_ "

Link stuffed his fist in his mouth, and told himself not to scream. Fifteen years, and now - _now_ he had to slip, and fall into the speech of the desert.

"It's ok Link, you can tell me - we're brothers, remember? And I'm not a baby anymore. I know there were bad things, before we escaped to the farm. I've seen them."

"You have?"

"Yeah," said Gan, stepping through the blue wall like it wasn't even there. Which, for him, maybe it wasn't. "I've always had magic, as long as I can remember. Roan didn't really learn to read first. _I did_. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to lose the pictures you showed me when you read to me."

"You can have all that and more," said a voice like silk and razors.

Gan's eyes flared wide, but he didn't turn. "Yeah?"

"You are wasted on such a petty, insignificant life. You should bestride the world, my lord, raise great works and greater armies - change the very fabric of history."

"Gan," whispered Link, catching one of Gan's hands in both of his own. "Don't listen to him. He's lying to you."

Gan bent low, whispering as the shadows coiled behind him, "It's ok."

"No it's not-! Can't you see it?" Link pulled vainly at his hand. He might as well try to move an oak. He shouted in frustration. "Come _ON_!

"Ignore that mortal trash. You are made for glory my lord - he's holding you back."

"Hn," said Gan, pulling away, and stepping backwards so the wall of blue light parted around his boots and made him look hard and sinister.

"Gan - let's go home. Home, Gan -"

"Not this time," said Gan, shaking his head. " _You_ go - run as fast as you can. See if you can touch the barn first, I dare you."

"No! Not without you. _Come on_ Gan - let's go-!"

"Not today, Link. Today we start a different game." He smiled, tilting his head to one side like he was listening to something. But the terrible voice didn't speak again.

"What are you talking about?" Link tried to reach for his hand again, but Gan folded his arms, looking down his long nose at like he'd become nothing more than an odd sort of bug. "Come on, before the bad spirit gets you-

"It's ok, Link," he said, and his expression softened. He dropped his voice, though there was no one to hear his confession but Link, and the spirit of this cursed shrine. "I think… I think this is why I was born so much bigger and stronger. This is my destiny, you know?"

"Gan, please -" Link begged, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Gan tilted his head the other way, the ghost of a smile tugging at one corner of his lips. "Will you play one last game with me, Link? For old times?"

" _Anything_ -" Link swore, and meant it. "Just - walk away from the bad spirit, ok? Come home."

"You have to promise you'll follow all the rules, ok? No cheating. Even when it's really hard."

"I will," said Link, jumping to get a fistful of Gan's faded red shirt. "Just _please_ \- we need to get out of here, Gan.

Gan shook his head, taking another step back. The wall of blue light flared, and hummed, changing into a kind of lacework that reminded him of the labyrinth cloth Lamis bought. "I'm only going to tell you the rules once, so listen really good, ok? It's really important that you follow _all_ the rules or you'll lose."

"I don't _care_ if I lose as long as you come with me -"

"I can't right now. It's the rules," said Gan, as lightly as if he was trying to weasel his way out of dusting. "Just like it's the rules that you run first. Not home - just run as far and as fast as you can, just like you did that Beedle Day, and don't look back. Ok? You'll be good at this part. Just don't look back, like when we were in the woods earlier, with all the roots, remember? You don't want to fall down."

Link wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Ok. Run. And then what, Gan? Will you catch me?"

"When you've run so far you can't run anymore, keep walking until you find a Great Fairy, just like the stories. Tell her you need directions to the Sacred Maiden, ok? And when you find _her_ , do everything she tells you, ok? She knows how to play this game too, and she'll help you be _really good_ at it."

"I don't want to play with some stupid maiden," Link shouted, fear and fury blurring his vision as tears ran down his cheeks. "I want to go _home_ , Gan. Let's go home and forget we ever came here, and everything will be ok again."

Gan ignored him. "You need to pay attention Link - this is the most important part, ok?"

"Gan - _the shadows_ -"

"It's ok," he said, but it wasn't. The shadows coiled around his feet, crawling up his legs - and Gan just stood there. "Are you listening really good?"

Link scrubbed his sleeve across his face, and thought about swearing "I'm listening."

"You have to be _really brave_ to win the game, Link. No matter what happens," he said, and his voice gained a familiar, terrifying depth. Like thunder and eternity. "You have to keep playing, and you have to win, no matter how hard it is to follow the rules. I'm counting on you, Link. Find the Sacred Maiden and the Blessed Sword, just like in the old stories, and win the game."

"Where will you be," he said, though it didn't really matter.

"I'll be there, Link. It's just like when we followed the songs on the wind - you were always good at that game, remember?"

"You said we were going to play the game together," Link knew it was petty, but what else could he do? The magic had him - unless Link could persuade him to cast it off again, he'd already failed. Again.

"We are, Link. It will be the best game," he said, and Link wanted to believe him. "I will be strong, and you will be brave, and the Maiden will be clever. You'll see."

"Why are you letting the shadows touch you? Use your magic, please-" he begged.

"I am using it, Link. You'll understand someday."

"I won't-!"

Gan laughed as the shadows boiled up, shrouding him entirely from view. "Well, first you have to play the game - you're going to save the world, Link. But you have to follow all the rules. Do you promise?"

"But - Gan- what's happening to you-?" Link cried, as a pair of glowing golden eyes opened in the shadows.

"You have to promise me," he said, and his teeth shone in the darkness, wicked sharp. "Are you ready?"

"No-"

"Set?"

"Gan-"

" _ **PROMISE-!**_ "

"Ok-! Ok -! I'm sorry - I promise! I'll play your stupid game - but - Gan - what's happening -? _WHAT IS HAPPENING TO YOU?_ _**GAN –!**_ "

" _ **GO-!**_ "


	29. Fear No More : 1 : T-20

A soaking sort of rain slanted steady and somber from the lowering gray skies as the soldier tied his horse in front of the rambling little house. He stood by her side in the rain for a long time, broad shoulders hunched forward, staring at his boots like he'd never seen them before.

The horse tossed her head, listening to something too quiet for anyone else to notice, and sidled just enough to jostle her shoulder against her master. He patted her neck without looking up, and trudged toward the house.

His spurs chimed as he strode across the deep porch, the only thing bright about him. He neither pushed back his hood nor made any attempt to shake the wet from his long cloak. Lights moved on the other side of the curtained windows, and the soldier halted on the far side of the braided entry rug as if he couldn't bear even so little softness. Accordingly, when he raised his fist to knock, he couldn't reach the door to do it.

It didn't matter. The door opened three breaths later anyway.

"I need to buy a goat," said the soldier.

The square-faced man in the doorway squinted at the soldier on his porch. "Suppose I could spare you a few yards of smoked sausages if that'll do."

The soldier held his cloak closed over his chest with one hand as he offered the man a heavy purse with the other. "The whole goat. I can pay."

The square-faced man worked his jaw, looking past the soldier to his horse.

"This is no kind of weather for any living creature to be traveling in."

"Please," said the soldier. "We have a long way to go."

A woman round as the man was square put her hand on his shoulder, guiding him through the door so she could take his place framed by light in the middle of it.

"We," she said.

The soldier said nothing, offering the purse again.

The man folded his arms across his chest. "You're full young to be traveling alone with such a hard look."

"I'm nineteen," returned the soldier with an air of long suffering.

"Of course you are," said the woman, leaving no doubt of her conviction otherwise. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to stand up straight?"

The soldier frowned, taking a step back. "My mother never taught me anything. She died, running from the war, when I was a babe. _Now_ can I buy the goat?"

The man raised one shaggy brow. "Your father?"

"Probably a soldier-"

A muffled squeak and grumble from under his cloak interrupted him.

The woman crossed the bright rug and laid her hands fearlessly over the soldier's right, unwinding his fist from the sodden wool and lifting the edge of his cloak as the squeak grew into a full-throated howl. The soldier's wide blue eyes darted between her and the man, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.

"We," she said again.

"Sins of the father," murmured the man. "Well, I have no mind to haggle in the rain. You'll just have to come in and wait it out."

"I can't-" began the soldier, as his burden screamed in fury.

"You must," said the woman, unfastening his cloak for him and handing it to the man. "Your child is barely born, and you've risked their life terribly already riding this hard. My son can learn to share while Corfo beats some sense into you."

The soldier scrubbed his free hand over his face, combing back his shaggy hair, and tried again to give his money to either one of them. The woman snorted at him and took the purse at last, mostly to get it out of her way, giving that to Corfo also.

"Ensren my boy - get your boots on and come fetch this horse out of the rain," said Corfo.

The only answer was a whoop of victory from inside the house.

"Look at that beautiful child," said the woman as the soldier reluctantly unwound the improvised sling holding the screaming infant to his chest. "Red hair from their mother no doubt - here, little one, let go of him, he hasn't what you want. Come to Idrea - yes, that's right - oof but aren't you heavy for such a tiny thing?"

The soldier stared helplessly as Idrea took the furious child in her arms and disappeared into the house. The screaming subsided not long after, leaving only the patter of rain on the wooden shingles as the two men on the porch studied each other.

The whipcord thin soldier wore plain boots and breeches, and an oversized coat of good steel ringmail decorated with two wide stripes of brass-plated rings at the edge. He wore a sleeveless blue tunic over it, darker where the insignia had been cut away, and stained darker still where it was torn at the right hip.

Corfo looked his foil in every way, cheerful in loose trousers dyed a deep mustard gold to match his long cobalt blue vest embroidered with every kind of leaf in onion-gold. His white linen shirt boasted more fine embroidery of blue flowers with gold hearts and red stamen, scattered over heavy smocking done with green thread exactly matching the wide sash tied over the whole.

A boy of nine in a plainer version of the same clomped out of the house wearing boots many sizes too large. The sight of him roused the soldier from whatever thoughts had swallowed his attention, and he moved to intercept the boy.

"No - I'll do it myself," he said.

"But Da said-"

"I'm already wet," said the soldier with a shrug. "Anyways it's better you don't. It's not safe."

Corfo stopped him going back into the rain with a hand on his shoulder. "You'll catch your own death staying out in this much longer. Ensren is a good boy, he'll do fine. He needs the experience."

"I won't let her boss me, sir. I take care of Molly and Jack all the time," said Ensren.

"It's not just her," said the soldier with a note of rising panic. "I have… she's carrying things-"

"I'll be careful," said Ensren.

"It's not about careful," said the soldier.

Corfo shook his head. "He's a good boy. Let him help - seems to me you need relieved of whatever you're carrying as much as she does. Your things will be locked with the tools until you're in better order."

The soldier sighed in defeat as Ensren snapped him a cheerful salute. Both men watched the boy go, leading the tired destrier to the barn with no trouble whatever. Once he was out of sight, Corfo turned his guest to face him, his voice soft as down and hard as stone.

"Strip down out here, and we'll pack your armor under last year's potatoes. The uniform goes into the fire, and you signed on with your girl at planting time, you understand?"

The soldier blinked at him, baffled. "I didn't do anything bad."

Corfo sighed. "You did what you had to. But now you're going to do what I tell you, son. Your girl left in the night, just after she was brought to bed of your son. His name's Roan. You don't know where she went. You don't know anything, you worked for my cousin Ibas Bensho in Vosterkun for ten years before you came here, you left after harvest last and came straight here on account of you were tired of half the year snow."

"But Roan is your- I mean, that's not his-"

Corfo shook his head. "Your son is Roan until I tell you he isn't. Red-hair is Idrea's folly and I love her too much to raise a fuss, you hear? The babes are within a few days of each other if I'm any judge, and no one has been out this way in months but the midwife and the Beedle. I'll send Ensren with a gift for the midwife tomorrow. Been meaning to clear out some of that sour fig jelly anyway."

The soldier stared. "But you lo- er. Figs are expensive."

Corfo shrugged. "We'll live. Now strip down, and I'll fetch you something from Idrea's mending basket. Suppose you can keep the boots, but leave them out here and take the spurs off. You got a name, boy?"

"Link," said the soldier, unlacing his doomed tunic.

Corfo rolled the name over his tongue, considering. "Too foreign. Voh, short for Vohatyr, from Kharazhin."

"Voh," said Link. "What's it mean?"

Corfo grinned, helping him wriggle free of the heavy maile. "Just a little joke. I'll be back by the time you're out of the rest."

They joined Idrea by the hearth long before Ensren finished with his task, and Corfo poured them each a mug of something richly amber from a clay jug he kept on the highest shelf. Idrea smiled at them, content in a nest of blankets in the deep settle, a babe in each arm and a little girl asleep with her head pillowed on her mother's knee.

"What's his name," she murmured, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

Link sniffed the contents of the mug instead of answering. "What is this?"

"It'll warm you. Made from apples."

Idrea and Corfo shared a speaking look as Link coughed and swore.

"Well," Corfo drawled. " _Mostly_ apples."

Link made a face at his mug, and muttered a string of foreign words that might have been an answer or a curse.

Idrea shook her head. "We can't just call him baby, Voh."

"Rajo then," he said at last, and lifted the mug for another, more cautious pull. "It means hope."


	30. Fear No More : 2

A gentle breeze eased the heat of another glorious summer morning, bright and buzzing with exuberant life. Link whistled low for the hens as he levered another stone from the dirt. The queen understood his call, launching into her ridiculous wobbling run at once. Her subjects raced to follow as Link hefted the rock onto his shoulder and endeavored to think of nothing more than the work, stepping easily over the taut strings pinned across the ground.

He'd forgotten how broken the terrain of the south enclosure had begun, but he remembered every inch of Idrea's beloved potager garden against the east side of the house. The five-pace-wide, wattle-fenced make-do plot sheltering between the henyard and the kitchen door barely produced enough for their table during the season, and nothing for trade. Not yet.

This, he could fix.

Between the goats and the fields and the orchard climbing the north hills, Corfo and Idrea had enough work to keep four people busy. Ensren did well enough with the small chores, feeding the animals and rotating them from one small enclosure to another, but it would be a few years yet before he would have the strength to help expand the farm. Lamis was too little to help with much of anything yet, and they couldn't afford to hire anyone.

The hard men in local lord's livery tried to make trouble about that when they came to the farm two days after the rainstorm. Link kept his head down and his mouth shut until they left, throwing all his strength into what simple labor he could manage without direction. Which wasn't much - turning the compost and mucking out paddocks and splitting another cord of wood into smaller pieces for the stove and oven - but dirty enough to keep the men from looking too closely. What he'd overheard still made him angry.

Link set the stone next to its place, scraping away the dirt to level it with its neighbor. He was nearly done with the first course already, and all four corners of the new enclosure dug. Corfo didn't have enough seasoned lumber ready to finish the whole thing as post-and-rail, not and still be able to raise the garden poles as they ought to be, but the middle of the fence could be finished with greenwood and coppice and still serve until the horseapple thickets grew in. The hedges would be easier for Idrea to maintain with them closer to the house anyway.

Link rocked the stone into place, and crossed the yard to dig up another. Hours rolled by, and eventually the hens lost interest in scavenging from his work, settling in for a nap on the porch railing. Ensren and Lamis ran past more than once, busy on little errands, and Link was glad he'd taken the time to drag the posts over to cover the holes. He couldn't set them alone, but at least he could keep the children from falling in until Corfo had time to help finish the work.

He'd promised to take them berry-picking the day after tomorrow, so both were afire to get ahead in their little chores and get to spend the whole day on adventure. Ensren, of course, would be helping him dig up thornberry roots to bring back, but he didn't know that part yet.

"Big project," said Corfo, ambling up towards the house through the labyrinth of stones and holes and posts.

"No bigger than yesterday," said Link, tamping the next stone into its seat. "Should be ready to set these poles tomorrow eve or so, if the road crew can spare you early."

Corfo frowned at the undulating patterns of the stone, turning in place where one day Idrea's blue milkweed would flourish. "And then?"

"Then the fence corners," he said, avoiding Corfo's eye as he stood. "Before bad things happen."

Corfo nodded, stepping over the lines of rocks. "Glad you've come to see reason."

Link shook his head. "We're still not staying. Just until Beedle day next, time enough for him to bring the nets and pipes I ordered."

"You'll break her heart," said Corfo.

Link set his jaw and turned heel. Corfo followed a few steps behind, and bent to help him pull the next rock out of the newest post-hole. Well he did, for it was larger than the last two put together, and they carried it between them to its new home. Once set, Corfo steered him away from the work with that look which would hear no argument at all.

"You can't raise a child rootless," he said. "Not this young. You said yourself the mother's family wouldn't know you from a hole in the ground - and we could use your strength here."

Link shook his head. "I've brought you enough trouble already."

"That's our place to decide," said Corfo. "Tell me about this wild design of yours, Voh. It's surely not my business if you want to harvest rocks in your free hours, but I'd like to be able to tell Idrea why you dug up half her onions and all her leeks."

Link ducked his head, pointing to the arced bed where he'd already laid them in their new - temporarily shallow -trenches. "I was careful. They'll do better over there anyway. And it's not my design. I've just done it before."

Corfo nodded in the way he did when he didn't understand at all. "You'll have to weave a new little fence for them then - and soon. I'll show you how it's done after lunch."

"I remember how," Link said, avoiding his skeptical look. "But I'll be sleeping on the porch another fortnight to guard it, and after that they won't need their own fence. You'll see."

"You didn't learn this kind of magic in the army," said Corfo, studying the beginnings of Idrea's garden. "Small wonder you couldn't bear the life."

"It's not magic. Or at least - I don't think he used any magic," said Link, frowning at the memory. "I'll need to borrow the mules and cart for berrying day. And again after the poles are up, of course. Don't know how many trips it will take this time."

Corfo steered him toward the house. "For?"

"You'll see," said Link. "Idrea's preserves will be famous someday."

"Don't tell her that," Corfo laughed, holding the door for him. "She'll be up all night inventing a worthy recipe."

\- o - O - o -

Berrying day dawned clear and sweet, bringing with it a dry west wind. Link yearned for a pot of good strong tea to clear the cobwebs of another sleepless night, but he didn't want to wake the house. So instead he crept down to the barn and spent the first hours of morning carefully picking every lock on every tool chest in search of his things.

He found most of the tack, and all of the gold enameled snake jewelry with its vivid green garnets. The spindle and the wool. The rest of the stash of rupees and the priceless books of legends, his writing case and the mostly-empty notebook bound in green-brown leather.

No sword.

And no masks.

Link sat with his adopted horse a long time, or at least an hour, fighting down the panic and fury. He expected Corfo would come out eventually to help get the cart ready - but it was Idrea who let herself into the loosebox and pulled him to his feet.

"Don't be angry with him," she said. "I'm the one who moved your things."

"You don't understand. I need-"

"Voh," she said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "A simple farmhand wouldn't know how to draw a sword without dropping it on your foot. Can't you just imagine what a patrol would say to see you wearing one?"

"Oh," said Link, as the shame burned his face. "You still shouldn't have - it's too dangerous. What if Ensrie or Lamis-"

"You can talk to me about dangerous on the day you let yourself grieve. Rajo's not the only one we worry about," she said, straightening his patched tunic. "And the day I can't keep a secret from my own children when I choose to is the day I join the ancestors."

Link tried to answer, but his words wouldn't work, and he couldn't sort out what to do with his hands.

Idrea clicked her tongue at him and folded him into her arms, and everyone else believed her later when she said the damp spot on her shoulder was the mare's mischief.

\- o - O - o -

Ensren and Lamis raced each other to to feed the goats and let the chickens free, and still fidgeted like bombachu all through breakfast. When Corfo brought the cart up to the house at last, Link helped Idrea pack the leftovers into a second provisions basket for the grand adventure. Ensren brought all the flat berry crates down from the attic, and Lamis carried blankets and cushions to build a nest in the back to travel in. The tool racks on the side of the cart proved to be empty though - Corfo stopped him when he would have gone to fetch the shovel and mattock, taking him to the root cellar for a crate of seed potatoes and a jar of rare spice instead.

Corfo laughed at his expression. "You look like someone just told you to carry water in a basket."

"It was supposed to be a surprise, for both of you. I need the shovel because I mean to bring Idrea not just thornberries, but her own thicket."

Corfo grinned, cutting a narrow core from one shriveled potato. "I know. I solved your puzzle yesterday. After we had the poles up and you started on the lattice, well."

Link sighed. "So why can't I do this for you? Why won't you let me repay-"

Corfo shook his head, and drew his folded handkerchief from a pocket. He laid it out on top of the crate in the dim cellar, unfolding the pale cloth to reveal a little briarflower branch with three sets of five red-kissed leaves. He dipped the cut end of the branch in the jar of spice, and gently wriggled it into the core of the potato.

Link stared at him, and the incomprehensible branch-potato.

Corfo laughed, handing him the little knife in its embroidered sheath. "There's more than one kind of magic in this world, Voh."

\- o - O - o -

Beedle day came a tenday late, on the heels of the autumn storm Link had hoped to avoid. The garden still looked like nothing much, but the south enclosure, at least, made sense to everyone. He worked when he could, and at the end of the day when he couldn't sleep, he carved scrap wood into clumsy owl statues with shattered green rupee eyes.

When Idrea made him stay inside, he taught Lamis to spin, and played nonsense games with Roan.

Rajo watched everything, and babbled at everyone. Generally he was no more difficult than Roan, or any other child of three months, except when he made abundantly clear he wanted Link's attention above all, and didn't get it.

No one said anything to Link about it. They didn't have to.

He didn't say anything about it either - whatever story they told themselves would be kinder than any lie he could invent.

Yet it dragged on him as he led the mule cart to the verge of the road to meet the Beedle. Not just for the nets that would help guard Idrea's garden, but to escort her and her beloved children to have their own share of the minor holiday. Corfo met them at the fence, Beedle in tow, and they wasted over an hour on idle nothings before Idrea declared the Beedle must join them for lunch as an honored guest.

The Beedle looked to Corfo, and drew a great breath, summoning more courage than Link thought the man had ever possessed in his whole life to that moment.

"I cannot trespass on your hospitality, my friends, for I love you too well. The warmth with which you embrace stray lambs is surely the blessing of Nayru on your house-" he trailed off, frowning at Link with undisguised suspicion.

"Farore no less," said Corfo, lightly. "You see yourself how life flourishes here - there is always room at our table for you, old friend. Let your fillies rest a while, and tell us news of Hyrule."

The Beedle swallowed hard, looking only at Link. "Din forbid I should pour darkness into a place of light."

\- o - O - o -

Corfo caught up to him just before he reached the barn. He didn't speak, but drew Link into his arms and held him like that, in the middle of the muddy yard, silent and steady as an oak.

Link didn't cry, but shook with rage. He'd wanted to hurt that man so badly for insulting his family. For his judgements no less pointed for all he delivered them in silence and hints. He didn't understand. The same man who never once questioned the goodness of a 'half Kokiri' boy and his 'half Gerudo brother' - assumed villainy when faced with a rootless deserter and his 'bastard child'.

As if he could ever hurt them! Rajo had to eat - and he'd thought in this body he would be able to persuade them to sell a nanny goat. He would leave as soon as the garden was ready. The garden in its final, crowning design might start to make up for the strain on their stores over the summer, though nothing could repay their other gifts. Even less could he atone for the harm he'd done last time - but at least they knew nothing of it and never would.

As long as nothing disturbed the seal on the ruined shrine.

"We can't stay," he said at last.

Corfo nodded, but made no move whatever to let him go. "Your business here goes through harvest, and though I won't let you in a furlong of a scythe, you can follow behind us while Ensren watches the littles and free Idrea to work hers. I'll sell you a goat then, if there's one still giving milk."

Link cursed, but even silken Geldo profanity didn't lift the stone from his chest. Corfo would remind him he'd planted half again as much grain as last year. He'd never be able to get it all in alone.

"I'll thank you not to teach the children what any of that means."

Link nodded, and Corfo let him go. He didn't look even remotely embarrassed, or angry, or anxious. Just - patient.

They met the Beedle wagon as it trundled up the hill to the little house, Idrea with Rajo in her lap on the driver's box next to the Beedle, with Roan in his. Both boys crowed and babbled as Corfo and Link walked beside.

"I need to buy a chest," said Link when there was a moment of quiet.

The Beedle nodded. "You'll want the sort that's bigger on the outside no doubt. I'll have to go to the city for that, or there wouldn't be much point."

"So?" Link scowled, and tried not to think about punching him.

"So that means spring, young Vohatyr," the Beedle said. "Maybe in time for blossoming. You won't mind if it's not precisely new, I hope?"

"I ordered bottles," said Idrea over Rajo's noise. "He's only got so much room in the wagon. If he could pack my bottles inside-"

Link kicked a pebble, perversely pleased when it scattered the hens lurking nearby. "Also a book of stories then. With pictures. _Nice_ ones."

"Voh," Corfo began.

"I have something I need to take care of," said Link, meeting Rajo's intense golden eyes. "I'll need my horse, and my things. I'll be gone a fortnight."

Corfo waited until Idrea swept into the house in furious temper matched only by the indignant rage of the babe she carried. "And if it's longer?"

"Hope," he said.


	31. Fear No More : 3 : T-18

The trouble with the big settle by the hearth stove was that it was deep enough for plenty of cushions. Also, it was warm, and the whisper of the fire blurred the noise of the house, even to the chaos of solstice feast preparations. Link knew better than to sit down without something to keep his hands busy, but he thought reading to Lamis would be enough - and help keep her out of the kitchen.

The little ones were supposed to be napping while Corfo and Ensren took the cart around the neighboring farms.

He woke to a weight on his chest and a damp and ticklish sensation on his cheek. He froze, afraid to open his eyes to horror, and heard Roan giggling somewhere behind him. Someone was pulling his hair. Which felt somehow damp.

He smelled paste and black walnut.

Link cracked one eye open as the tickle along his cheek lifted, and found himself looking up into Rajo's bright eyes. He was sitting on Link's chest, inkpot balanced precariously between his knees. He frowned ferociously, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he dipped the brush and reached to add another fiendish squiggle to his work.

Link waited until Rajo was committed to the brushstroke to move, trying to pretend he was just shifting in his sleep. Roan noticed before he could grab the inkpot, shrieking in glee and alarm. Rajo's golden eyes pinned in panic, and he scrambled to escape, brush still clutched in his small fist. The ink splashed everywhere as it fell to the floor, and Link rolled off the settle still half-tangled in blankets.

He caught his reflection in the stove-glass and swore. Rajo whooped victory as he raced after Roan - a metallic crash from the kitchen betrayed their direction. Link scrambled to his feet to give chase - Idrea should have been in there - she would be furious if they ruined the feast.

Roan pelted him with nuts as he skidded around the dining table, hollering about wolves. Idrea bundled through the garden door as Rajo overset the vegetable baskets in his mad scramble through the kitchen. Her laughter belied her indignant protest.

"Rajenaya stop that _right now_!" Link roared as Rajo snatched the slops bin from under the enormous sink.

Rajo stuck his tongue out, and upended the whole thing across the kitchen floor as Idrea howled in helpless laughter, sagging against the door with a stack of honey frames in her arms.

"Evil child," he muttered, as Rajo escaped out the garden door by way of scrambling under Idrea's skirts.

\- o - O - o -

A gentle snow started falling as Link chased his ancient enemy through the winter twilight. They tore across garden and farmyard, scrambling through mud and slush. Rajo slipped through fences Link was obliged to vault, leveraging every advantage of his boundless energy and devious mind to evade his opponent.

Only when his horse screamed in surprise at the tiny, fearless invader in her paddock did Link realize the boy didn't have shoes. He stumbled through a half-frozen puddle as Rajo slipped through the opposite fence and pelted off toward the house again.

Barefoot.

In nothing but his long holiday tunic.

How long had they been outside? An hour? Link was winded and chilled through - soaked in spite of good boots and heavy woolens. How much worse for his tiny, desert-born charge?

Link climbed back over the fence, heart pounding. If the boy had any sense of self preservation he'd go in the house at once.

So _of course_ he veered for the henyard instead.

Link sprinted after him, only to find Rajo had jammed the lock somehow. He ignored Link's demands, scrambling through the clutter of roost bars and diversions and open air nest boxes to the hen's ladder.

Link tore the door from its frame in his desperate fury, destroying the brass hinges beyond repair. The hens scolded him, milling under his feet as he crashed after the boy. He broke the main ramp into the coop as he grabbed at Rajo's bright tunic.

Rajo screamed in rage and leapt from the ladder, breaking Link's tenuous grip. The foulest of curses fell from his lips as he lunged after the boy, a torrent of insults he neither heard then nor remembered after. At last, he wound his fist around one delicate, filthy ankle as its owner tried to escape into the dark coop.

Rajo screamed defiance, dropping the brush at last and clawing at the disgusting floor as Link hauled him back into the open.

Link growled, carrying his wailing, thrashing charge upside down as he stomped back across the henyard

"NO! Jojo GOOD! No - leggo! No more monster. No eat Jojo," Rajo howled.

"Good? _You?_ Never," Link growled, kicking the ruined door mostly back over its frame.

"Nonono," babbled Rajo. "Be good _be good_ \- no eating Jojo - Jojo taste bad! Leggo _leggo_ , no tell, our secret! No mad. Secret! Be good be good."

Link froze, the shape of Rajo's terror lancing through his heart. He'd been careful to hide the mask always - he'd only used it twice this time, and Rajo couldn't possibly remember his birth. How did he know? He locked his room in the barnloft when he slept, and he avoided holding Rajo whenever possible, in case his magic was instinctive. Where else could he have gotten such a horrible idea?

A hammer blow of memory - Roan throwing nuts to slow the wolf so Jojo could run away.

The shape of the smeared ink on his face in the stove-glass, no longer a mindless scribble, but a wobbly protection charm copied from Rajo's favorite storybook.

Link sank to his knees in the mud and snow, wrapping the struggling Rajo in his arms. Rajo buried his face in Link's sodden tunic, and sobbed until he gave himself hiccups.

"It's ok," he said, over and over, smoothing down wild red curls.

Eventually, Idrea came out to scold them both for risking frostbite playing outside in such weather, exclaiming over their icy hands and the state of their clothes. Which were pretty awful, both of them smeared with paste and ink and mud and cucco castings and tears and snot. She stole Rajo away for a bath in the sink, and shooed Link to the barn to rinse himself and fetch fresh clothing.

\- o - O - o -

Link climbed the steep and narrow stairs to his room barefoot and shirtless, cursing himself and the weather and the cruelty of gods. His madder-red tunic was probably ruined, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever get all the paste out of his hair, but at least it wasn't a cockscomb anymore. He'd scrubbed his boots, but they were soaked and he wasn't looking forward to having to put them back on for the return trip to the house.

Wrapped in regrets, he'd dug his key out of his pocket and fit it to the lock before he realized the door wasn't even latched. Heart in his throat, he eased the door open, bracing for a fight.

"You're not from Vosterkun," said Ensren, without lifting his dark head. He calmly turned another page in the Book of the King, though surely he couldn't read it.

But he _could_ read Link's notes. Which were also open in his lap. The Book of Sands lay on the floor next to him, and the books of magic, and all of Gan's old notebooks. The laundry basket and brightly wrapped parcel on his table explained Ensren's initial trespass - all of the clothing from his trunk had been emptied into his cot, and the false bottom leaned against the far wall.

Link shut the door. "No," he said.

Ensren nodded, turning pages. "Are you really a soldier, or just a thief?"

"You were supposed to be with Corfo today," Link said, dropping heavily into the wooden chair. In close quarters he could smell his own stink too well, and without his tiny stove going, his room was barely warmer than the rest of the barn.

"Did you steal these when you stole Jojo?" Ensren raised his hazel eyes, as deep and deceptively calm as a forest pond.

"No," said Link, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Are the masks from the desert too?"

"No. You shouldn't have touched them. They're dangerous, Ensrie."

"I was careful," said Ensren, closing both books and adding them to the stack of magic books without looking.

"It's not about careful," said Link. "All magic is dangerous. But people will get hurt if the bad magic isn't stopped."

"Is that why you stole Jojo? To save Jojo from the bad magic?"

Link propped his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. "I was a hero, once," he said. "Long ago tomorrow, in a hard time."

The floorboards creaked as Ensren unfolded himself from the floor. "What are you now, Vohatyr?"

Link couldn't find an answer.

Ensren padded across the room and laid his hand on Link's shoulder exactly as his father did when Link was locked in his own head. "Who did the books belong to? Our secret."

The words cracked on his tongue. "My brother," he said.

\- o - O - o -

The chaos of merrymaking filled the little house, fragrant with evergreen bundles over every door and the table crowded with feast and family. Link helped Idrea carry the platters of glazed duck, new boots clicking brightly across the slate floor.

Rajo crawled into his lap the moment he sat down, all traces of his misadventure washed away, fear forgotten. Link held him steady so he could reach to trace his tiny brown fingers along the onion-gold embroidery on Link's new holiday vest of deep indigo wool. The pattern of thornberry vines and potato leaves stretched from collar to hem, their color echoed in the lattice pattern of his wide blue-and-gold sash, a quiet reflection of their resounding success breeding tame thornberries behind wattle-fence and fishing nets.

Ten years early and four times as grand, for grafting Gan's brilliance with Corfo's wisdom.

Link held his mug out for cider as Corfo circled the table, not at all surprised when he tipped more than a little applejack into it too. No doubt Idrea had told him the whole story, and he _did_ still have ink on his face, to Roan's effervescent glee.

Idrea covered her mug when Corfo moved to give her the same, and a radiant sort of silence bloomed between them.

"Taedra," Link murmured, though no one heard him.

Rajo used his distraction to steal a sip from his mug, laughing and unrepentant when Link took it away again. He squealed with glee as Link lifted him onto his shoulders and stood, urging him to play pony, 'like Da'.

Link cleared his throat, and Lamis drummed her fists on the table when that wasn't enough to get her parents' attention.

Five sets of wide eyes pinned him in place as he laid out his proposal for an addition along the north side of the rambling house. Heavy timber framing and wide clerestory windows, tile roof and separate rooms for each of the children. He explained how the kiln against the outside wall would heat the fancy tiled bath, and how the neighbors and townsfolk would buy the extra tiles Lamis would paint. He told them about the one-eyed beggar in town who used to be a soldier, who would help work the fields for a jar of applejack on quarterdays and a bed in the barn, and the merchant's wife who would pay red rupees for someone to watch her mother twice a week. Roan interrupted constantly, and Rajo refused to be outdone, but when he was done, Corfo raised his own mug for a toast to the great architect under their roof.

"It's not my design," he said, embarrassed.

"Yes it is," said Ensren, staring right at him. "I saw - he's got hundreds of drawings, buildings and locks and cities and towers and a waterwheel-"

"The works of kings. Our great good fortune then," said Corfo. "That the first fruits should flower on our land."

"It's different thinking it and doing it," Link mumbled. "I might not be able-"

"Have a little hope, my son," said Idrea.


	32. Fear No More : 4 : T-14

Clouds of steam gathered under the rooftree, veiling the heavy timbers and softening the lanternlight. The air was redolent with the scent of wet wool, woodsmoke, and strong soap, the song of the little creek burbling along with the soft chirrups of these tamed woods. The improved siphon diverting water into the sectioned waxwood troughs worked beautifully, but better than that was the winch, lifting fully half the batch with just a few turns.

Link spun the netted fleece tight, wringing as much of the soapy water from the fibers as he dared, watching the cabled rope strain. He could have had the smith forge a chain for it - but he could only fit two fleeces in each trough as it was. Anyways, the runoff ponds were only designed to handle six batches of first wash and the sketch of proposed improvements was unfinished.

He let the net unwind, keeping it from jouncing with a light hand, and guided the hook over the next trough and its clean net. By heaping handfuls he tumbled the soapy fleece into the clear water, checking through for any sticky patches that might need extra attention. Whomper's long gray curls sometimes tangled around the grease if the water cooled off too much. He only found a few handfuls to toss back, small enough he could massage the grease out and be able to put one more batch through after.

Link worked in sweaty silence, thinking of nothing but the work. A soft breeze picked up, dancing through the woven walls of the little washing shed, but it only stirred the heat together. Outside, perhaps, away from the stove heating the wash water and the soap cauldrons, that breeze would soothe - the walk back to the house might even dry his back enough to think of pulling his shirt back on.

Link laughed at himself as he stirred the cauldrons, dipping out a careful measure of grease and wax for the next batch of spindles. So many years spent in on Death Mountain, in the dry heat of the plateaus, and wandering the endless sand sea, yet in this soft refuge a little iron stove made him long for a swim.

He dipped the crosspieces in the cooling unguent, and both ends of the jack, tilting it back and forth to coat the whole. He should have Lamis make him a shallow tray for this, but there was a soothing rhythm in keeping to this way. He rubbed the grease into the fine-grained wood, arranging the pieces on the wire mesh shelves, one after the other.

Eight spindles, and turn the wool. Turn out one soap log, fill a second. Slice the last log and lay the cakes out on the shelves. Dip out a fresh bowl, eight more spindles.

A lost firefly drifted through the walls, and he shooed it back out with his little fan. He frowned at the wall when a second and a third flitted through the walls. He chased them out the screen door this time, blinking at the deep twilight. Tomorrow would be solstice, so it was not the day running fast, but himself running slow. He shook his head, and let the counterweight close the door behind him.

So many clever little things, pulleys and gears and ambitious constructions for the most mundane tasks. No one _needed_ a machine to close a door, but Ganondorf had designed one anyway. Whatever pattern he found in the world, he could not allow it to just _be_.

Idrea would understand - even if his stomach didn't - no doubt she'd already set his dinner beside the ovens. There would be no washing tomorrow, so he couldn't leave either trough to fester. He turned everything, cursing under his breath that neither fleece was ready. He smothered the fire, locking away the embers in the iron chest of woodash, and swept traces of sawdust into the opposite chest, locking both. Full dark descended long before he had the washing shed clean, and when he finally had the last fleeces spread on the drying frames, even the fireflies had gone to bed. Owls scolded him as he wound his way back to the house. They'd left the barn lanterns burning, but Zibo often stayed up to nadir or later in summer.

Lanternlight spilled from every window of the little house, and even the garden lanterns still danced merrily against the night. Link stopped beside the henyard pump to sluice a little of the smell off, and pulled his shirt back over his head. The kitchen door opened, and Idrea peered into the darkness.

"Ah - at last - Link. Did Ensren find you?"

He shook his head, frowning at her slip. "No - but I took the short path through the far paddock. I can go back-"

"Is Jojo with you?"

Link froze in the middle of retying his sash. "How long?"

Idrea shook her head, wringing her hands as she descended the kitchen steps. "He talked Lamis into covering his chores just after breakfast, and swore he'd take your lunch today so she could get the kiln unpacked."

"Zibo brought my lunch," he said, turning in place, alert for the slightest movement in the shadows. "Are the ovens still going?"

"Of course not," said Idrea, frowning. "How can you think of food-"

Link couldn't hear the rest of her scolding over the pounding of his heart as he raced for the barn. He ran into Zibo just inside the door, sending them both sprawling. The poor man fell into a coughing fit from the impact, but he hadn't found Rajo either.

Link climbed the stairs to his room three at a time, kicking the chest over as soon as he'd pried it open. He snatched the dusty leather satchel from the mess, and the plain sword from over the door. He vaulted over the railing, tumbling over his own feet as he ran to collect his horse. Zibo had the poor mare ready for him - how much time had they all wasted, convincing themselves their worries were unfounded?

He ignored the shouting from the house, slapping the mare into a startled gallop as soon as they cleared the door. He sniffed the wind, guiding her away from the lights of the house, toward the desolate road. The scent seemed to faint to be from the south, but he could not thank fortune for that: when he crested the hill, he saw the glow to the west.

Link swore, turning back long enough to ring the watchbell at the farm gate. Light bloomed along the road as they pounded down it, and the shrill clarion at the town gates joined the chorus of frantic bells. Ash drifted into his face, and the choking scent of burning greenwood tried to smother him. The orange glow turned into a fog of roiling smoke turned into a ravening orange beast feasting on the verge. And still tongues of flame roared in the smog ahead, the dead and dying trees between rising black and jagged in the grayness.

The mare refused to leave the road, rearing and dumping him from her back to flee back home. He swore again, dragging a threadbare quilted tunic from his bag. He dumped everything else on the road to pull it on over his sweat-soaked shirt, popping seams. He buckled the baldric properly, and leapt over the sizzling embers into the burning woods.

He crashed through smouldering thickets and hacked burning branches from his path, shouting himself hoarse. No clear path lay before him in any direction - these woods were mostly tame, harvested and hunted often enough, but the distance between the blackened trunks left too much ready fuel for the blaze.

Heart in his throat, he searched for the center of the disaster anyway, stopping only to retch when he tripped over the corpse of an unlucky doe or to circle around a wall of active flame. He tumbled into a ravine he should have remembered to avoid, cracking his ribs in the fall.

Link sprawled in the ashy mud at the bottom, filthy, exhausted, coughing as the tears came. He cursed the rocks and the fire and the mud and the gods, pulling himself back to his aching feet. He crunched charred vines and thornbrush underfoot, hunting for a place to climb back out. Neither the mud nor the scree would support him long enough to push more than halfway up the steep slope. He trudged down the ravine, cursing his own failure, until he met a solid wall.

He coughed more ash out of his lungs at its foot, and turned around to climb the other way. A quarter of the way back, he stopped, staring at the charred nothingness around him. Fire was lazy, arrogant, and greedy. It spread up to easy prey, not down where it had to fight its own miasma. With fallen stones completely blocking the downslope, there was no easy path into the ravine. A fallen brand wouldn't have consumed the damp growth so thoroughly.

Link bellowed against the roar of the fires above, and charged back up the ravine. No voice answered, but he tore every charred snarl of vines from the ravine walls as he went, peering into every crevice he passed, however small.

And at last, he found treasure.

Battered and unconscious, wedged into a fissure too small on this side to even reach an arm through. With desperate strength he hammered the pommel of his sword against the ravine wall, screaming for Rajo to wake up. He didn't stir - and no more than a few handfuls of stone chipped free.

Link dropped the sword and flung himself at the wall, using the mouth of the fissure for leverage to haul himself up. He scrambled and slipped and cursed his way to the blasted ash of the surface and scraped away wreckage and scree from the top of the treacherous fissure. A still-burning trunk had crashed down across the widest part, and he hooked his baldric around one of the shattered branches to heave against it. The moment it rocked clear, he stripped off the satchel and wriggled into the cramped space himself.

He shouted, and he pushed himself further down the sharp narrowing slide. Rajo still didn't answer - but he breathed. Link reached past the broken glass and caught Rajo's small hand. He pulled, and he twisted to reach with his other hand, and thumblength by agonizing thumblength he pulled Rajo high enough to get the baldric around him. And he heaved, and he strained, climbing crablike sideways and backwards up the treacherous, cramped slope.

Link dragged Rajo behind until the fissure opened enough to pull him across his own chest, and he could not remember being more glad to breathe bad air than when they reached the ground once more. He stripped off the tunic and wrapped that around his unconscious charge, ignoring the heat as he recovered his satchel. The blessed rain answered his song, and at last, Rajo stirred.

\- o - O - o -

A wild, ragged cheer rose to greet them at the edge of the woods, as the summer storm argued with the ravening wildfire around him. Strangers dashed past the firebreaks to relieve him of his burden, and others tucked their shoulders under his to pull him faster into the clear air of the road. He stumbled, trying to tell them he had to go back for his sword. The strangers picked his feet clear of the ground and carried him to the waiting mule cart, where someone handed him a heavy mug. Parched, he drank it without question, and the one after it.

He tried to climb down from the cart, and fell. Strangers lifted him back in, and he heard Idrea's voice as they took his boots and tied his hands to the rail of the cart. He couldn't make out what she was saying, and he couldn't find her among the sooty faces in the flickering lantern light. Someone gave him another mug, and he gave it back to them, demanding to know who had Rajo. They babbled at him, and handed the mug to someone else, who babbled louder, and everyone wanted him to drink. So he drank until he couldn't hold another drop, and when he managed to pull free of the rope, someone's fist tapped his ear, and he heard nothing else until afternoon.

\- o - O - o -

He woke in a strange bed, too wide, and too soft, and too full of blankets. He glared at the light, but it didn't go away. He threw the covers back, groaning at the deep-seated ache and the novel pain that seemed to have replaced his entire skull. A woman squeaked and giggled, and soft hands in the golden light wrapped him in a robe apparently made of stinging nettles. He swore, and squinted against the light, trying to make out the details of the room.

"Voh," said the shadow of Corfo in the door. "You did good, my boy. You did good."

"Rajo," rasped Link.

"Safe," said Corfo, taking his outstretched hand in a painful grip. "Safe and well, and as full of sugar as we could manage so he'd let you sleep, may the gods preserve us all."

Link laughed, and followed him down the hall. The light wasn't so bad away from the windows, and as they emerged into the parlor he realized Idrea and Corfo had put him in their own bed. Ensren looked up from his carving, and held his finger over his lips, gesturing to the opposite settle with his little knife.

Rajo woke anyway, as soon as Link rested his weight against the polished wood frame. He blinked his golden eyes and scrubbed his little hand over his face. Clean, and bright with good health. Not one scrape or burn in evidence.

But he did not smile, smoothing his garish holiday tunic and rolling off the settle.

"Uncle Voh," he said, and took a deep breath. "I - dropped the honeycomb."

"It's ok," said Link, his eyes burning with fresh tears. For a sweet, he'd set the entire woods on fire and frightened the whole family.

"No," said Rajo, somber. "It isn't at all. I also lost the fireflies. And the deku nuts. And the knife Ensren gave me last year, and your green book."

Link shook his head, unable to answer. A near apology, from the once and future king of all evil.

Rajo took another deep breath and said very quickly: "And the fairy got away."

Link's legs stopped holding him up. Ensren scrambled off the settle and Corfo offered his own hand up. Link shook his head, watching Rajo tuck his curls behind his ears and look brave.

"Fairy," Link whispered at last.

"I'm not making it up," he said defiantly, jutting his small jaw forward. "I saw a dozen of them, pink and blue and yellow and green and purple. I caught the best one - she was pink and she laughed like bells and her feet tickled. But she got away. When I fell."

"The bottle," said Link, seeing the shattered green glass scattered in the fissure and caught in the dirty red curls.

"Yeah," said Rajo, and he sighed, and looked away. "So I don't have a present."

Corfo reached out to ruffle Rajo's hair. "You still have presents my boy - you're the one who didn't want to open-"

"Not mine _Da_ ," said Rajo, rolling his eyes. "Ensren said Uncle Voh doesn't have birthdays, but I think that's stupid. Everyone has birthdays, even if nobody ever told them when it was. So I decided he can share mine."

\- o - O - o -

Link stood with Ensren watching the autumn sunset, exhausted from the mad scramble to get the hay in before the storm broke. Corfo joined them, bringing the jug of applejack to top off Link's mug of it, and after a minute, tipped a little into Ensren's cider also.

They drank in companionable silence for a while, until Ensren's stomach roared. They laughed, and speculated how long before Idrea brought the pies to table. When they ran out of small things to say, Link drank off the rest of his mug, and set it with meticulous care on the porch railing.

"You're leaving," said Corfo.

"Yeah," said Link, shamefaced. "We have to. Rajo-"

"Needs a teacher," said Ensren. "He has a dangerous gift, but I've read there's there's wizards in the cities. Surely there's got to be one who can help."

"Or a priest," murmurred Corfo.

"He's not _wicked_ , Da," said Ensren with a stubbornness equal of his father. "He was _scared_. He didn't know he'd found a feral colony, and grown men who know better will run like mad when they get a dozen stings in half a minute. From what he told me, the fire came later."

"When he fell," said Link, quietly.

"He told you that," Corfo said, one shaggy brow lifted.

"No," said Link. Rajo had refused to tell him anything more about what happened. But Ensren was a patient young man, and he loved his adopted brothers. "I just - you know he hates small places. He doesn't even like hunting mushrooms."

Corfo nodded. "Ibas wrote me, said there's peace talks in Hyrule. Royal chancellor put out a general call for masons and carpenters. Nobody looks much close at plain builders. Beedle should be able to sell your armor in Termina or somewhere by now, and I'll advance you a bit, to get you started. You can fetch the rest when you come for the holidays."

"But I'm not a-"

"You built half this house," said Ensren, implacable.

"But I didn't design any of-"

"You did more than you credit," said Corfo. "Anyways plain builders just follow drawings, and you've four references without even riding all the way to town that say you're a fair hand at it."

"Castletown," said Ensren, decided. "It's the first place I'd build - taller towers for the new cannon, and bigger walls. There might even be a real school, just for magic, that close to the royal family."

"No building in winter though," said Corfo. "Might as well send an inquiry, and plan for spring."

"You don't understand how dangerous that is," Link said to his boots.

"There's power in hope," said Corfo.


	33. Fear No More : 5

The taut sailcloth shelter bloomed rose-gold with the crisp, quiet dawn. The wind relented hours ago, but Link still should have started the stove well before sunrise. Unfortunately Roan and Rajo had abandoned their shared cot again last night, laying in wait for sleep to claim him so they could drag their own blankets over and join _him_. Like enormous mischievous kittens both of them, quiet for the moment only because they sprawled without dignity in the warmest possible spot.

Link could not even shift an arm without waking one or both - and Rajo so rarely slept through the night now, he hated to interrupt his rest.

So he lay awake, watching the shifting colors shimmering across the frost-gilded sailcloth, trying vainly not to think. At last, he could wait no longer. Roan moaned in sleepy complaint as Link wriggled out from under them. Rajo - his golden eyes snapped open at once, and his small brown fist tightened in Link's sweater reflexively. Link unwound his fingers from the thick wool, whispering the necessity to bargain his way free. Rajo released him, sitting up on the cot and winding the blankets around himself without remorse for uncovering Roan in the process.

And so another day on the frozen lake with the twin terrors began.

\- o - O - o -

Both boys caught a pair of walleye first thing that morning, though Rajo's first one was too small to keep. Roan teased him about it, until he hooked a pike so big it snapped the line while they fought to bring it up. Link couldn't get the net under it fast enough, and he knew it would be at least an hour before they had a bite after that. He helped Rajo tie a new hook on, and once they had all three belled tip-ups rigged again, they skated back to their canvas shelter for breakfast. The little iron stove crackled with cheer, and the boys argued over whether more fish was better or bigger fish, whose fish would be the best tasting of all, and the best way to catch the big pike for good next time.

Tomorrow, Ensren would drive out to meet them with Molly and Jack. They'd caught more than enough fish in their barrel already for feasting, and some for smoking too. Not the best haul ever, but that wasn't the main reason they'd come.

Link shooed the boys back into their heavy woolens and out to check the lines, avoiding the thought. Corfo was right, of course. It would have to be said - but not yet. Let them have one more afternoon idyll.

They didn't catch much more the rest of the day, so Link folded out the work table and set up crates for the boys to stand on. He taught them how to gut and scale their fish while he rendered the result into fillets for the table and scraps for the garden and the hens. They finished processing their entire barrel by noon, and checked the lines again.

Link caught another walleye, and Roan a tiny perch they had to toss back. Something had broken Rajo's line again, and he was furious at losing a fourth hook on a single trip. Link showed them both how the line had frayed when it snapped, reassuring Rajo that his knots had nothing to do with the loss.

This fact held no sway with him. "What good is a line that's weaker than a stupid knot? Why do we even use stuff so small and weak a stupid fish can break it?"

Link sighed, winding up what was left of the line. "It's important, to fool the fish. Anything bigger, stronger, or heavier would draw attention to itself, and we'd catch nothing at all."

"Nets are heavier," Rajo countered. "Why do we even use hooks and string? Why can't we just-"

"It's complicated," said Link, handing the rod to Roan and collecting the tip-up. "Partly, to catch different fish - and partly, to only catch the fish you want to keep."

Rajo scowled, kicking bits of ice into the hole in the frozen lake. "Well that's stupid. I will find a way to fool the fish with better string next time."

Link shook his head, handing Rajo the fish basket. "This is just part of fishing. Sometimes you don't find the right place or time, or you don't have the right things. Fishing is being patient, and watchful, and always trying again."

Rajo took the basket, muttering something about perfection under his breath.

"You'll have time to practice," said Link, collecting the pieces of the last tip-up frame. "The city is so close to the river we can walk there on rest days."

Both boys stopped at once, throwing snow from their skates and nearly falling. "What city? Termina? When?"

"Termina doesn't have everything," Link began, avoiding their eyes. "Hyrule Castletown."

"We're going to their _capital_ ," Roan shrieked. "Oh _Da_ , thankyouthankyou _thank you_! Will we see soldiers? Of course we'll see soldiers. But will we see them _lots_? Will we be close to the training grounds? The towers? Will we see cannon?"

Link winced. There simply wasn't a good way to open the subject, but he regretted seizing this one already. "No," he said.

Rajo frowned. "Why not? Just because _you_ didn't like being a soldier-"

"Because," said Link, cutting him off. Best to get through it quickly, and deal with the pain after. "War is not a game, and _Roan_ isn't going."

Roan dropped the fishing rods, slack-jawed. "But you just said-"

"I'm sorry," said Link, glancing between them. Rajo's eyes already narrowed, his sharp jaw tight. Roan still looked stunned. "You're needed here. Ensren is strong, but he can't add my chores and both of yours to his load all at once."

"So tell Da to hire more people like Zibo," said Rajo. "It's dumb that we have to do work anyway when town kids don't."

"They have different chores, that's all. Most people won't work for trade, like Zibo and I do. Rupees are harder to come by out here, and Da Corfo needs those to pay the Beedle and the smiths and-"

"Then we should go get more rupees," said Rajo, fist on his hip.

"We will," said Link. "They are building new walls and towers in Hyrule, paying good wages for even foreign workmen -"

"Needing rupees is stupid," said Rajo. "Everyone uses them for stuff and work anyway, why not just trade to begin with?"

"It's complicated," said Link, scrubbing his forearm over his face. "Maybe next year, if Da Corfo says it's ok-"

"Who cares what Uncle Corfo thinks about anything," said Roan, balling his mittened fists fiercely. "Why can't I go with you? Why do you care more about stupid I'm-so-tall Ensren than me? How can you _leave me here_ , Da?"

"You won't be alone. You still have your whole family - a wonderful, peaceful life on your fa- on the farm. There are hundreds of thousands of people in the world who spend their whole lives wishing for the life you have."

"But you'll take _him_ ," Roan spat, his face blotchy pink.

"I have to," said Link.

"I hate you-" screamed Roan, his voice breaking as he repeated it again and again, salted with profanity no doubt gathered from Zibo, or the town soldiers, or both.

When Link stretched his hand out to quiet him, he pivoted and flung himself at Rajo, howling. Rajo dropped the fish basket to fight back, and they tumbled to the ice, flailing. Link hurried to unburden himself as they rolled and punched and bit each other fiercely. He knew separating them would be hard, but he'd been worried about violence from the wrong direction entirely.

Rajo broke away, and as soon as he had his feet under him, he raced away, deeper into the lake. Wildly, sliding on every turn, weaving in no useful direction at all, and Roan tore after him. Link couldn't anticipate where Rajo would skate next, so he could only follow them, and issue vain orders for both of them to stop.

Rajo landed hard on his side after a turn too swift, and crouched, waiting for Roan to get close before he sprinted back the way they'd come. Link veered to intercept him, but too late. Roan was faster than either of them, and a more skillful skater. He flung himself at Rajo and carried the fight back toward their abandoned fishing holes.

Link cursed them both, and Roan stripped off his mittens as his silver skates flashed wicked sharp across the ice. This time when he caught Rajo he hauled his sweater up over his head to blind him, and dragged him into a looping slide, heading directly for their first and largest hole. He twisted, flinging a howling Rajo toward the dark water, soaking him to the waist.

Rajo clung grimly to the surface, even as the water filled his skates and tried to drag him deeper. Link shoved past the furious Roan, ignoring his shriek of betrayal, and hauled Rajo back onto solid ice at once. His teeth already chattered, but he regained his balance well enough, lifting his chin with pride and resolve.

Link looked down at sweet, mischievous Roan, who once loved his brother and best friend so fiercely, and could not find any words at all. Roan's shrill venom gave way to angry tears, but what good was that, when he held murder in his heart?

Unbidden, a memory of Nabooru's face, when she pushed through the smouldering scrub at the mouth of the grotto with three armed sisters beside her, as he wept over the blood of evil's heir.

So he laid his hand on Rajo's shoulder, and pointed to their distant shelter. Rajo nodded, and skated around Link's far side to retrace their path. He even stopped to pick up the abandoned fishing poles and basket.

Link shook his head, unable to find even the smallest words for the weight in his heart, and turned back. Roan would follow, or he wouldn't, and Link would deal with that after Rajo was safely in fresh clothing and settled by the stove.

He didn't hear Roan's skates until he was picking up the pieces of all the tip-ups. Roan knelt to help, and Link ignored him.

"Da, I didn't mean - it was an accident-" Roan began, and Link heard echoes of other tragedies under his voice.

 _Sorry doesn't make it unhappen._

Link stood, and took the last pieces from Roan in silence. Roan sniffled, and wiped snot from his nose with the back of his bare hand. He couldn't stay out in the cold much longer either.

They measured the rest of the distance in the same heavy silence, Roan gliding along behind him, empty handed and sniffling.

\- o - O - o -

Link poured three bright mugs full of tea, filling the tent with fragrant steam. The boys sat on opposite cots, one subdued and the other obstinate, both in their last set of fresh woolens, both silent. Neither thanked him for the tea, but Rajo gave his usual smirking sort of half-smile. Impossible to read.

Link sank down on the banded oak chest and wished for applejack in his mug. "The truth is, I didn't bring you both out here for the fishing. Ensren and I would catch more in half the time."

Two pair of narrowed eyes fixed on him, and he took a sip of the tea. It burned his tongue, and it still didn't have any booze in it. "Long ago, in a hard time, people said I was a hero, because of the things I did. I believed in the old legends, and the spirits, and the Princess of Destiny. I… did bad things."

"We know," said Rajo, and Roan nodded agreement. "Da told us how you ran away from the war when we found your armor in the cellar."

Link frowned. "You shouldn't go looking through other people's things."

Roan rolled his eyes. "We didn't steal it. We just looked. Looking doesn't hurt anyone. Anyway, why _are_ we out here, if it's not for stupid fish?"

"The thing is - you're too young to understand _why_ we had to leave Hyrule," said Link, sipping his tea while both boys fidgeted, eager for the grisly details. "But after what Rajo did this summer-"

"It was an accident-" grumbled Rajo.

"That's not _fair_ ," said Roan at the same time, fair face contorted with fury again. "He almost ruined everything for everyone and broke eleventy different rules, and _he_ gets to go to Castletown?"

"Roan," said Link, staring him down.

Roan flinched.

"It's not a holiday," said Link. "There are no teachers here for what he needs most to learn. Next time, our luck might be _bad_ luck. Next time, the _really_ bad magic might find him before _I_ do."

"I said it won't happen again. I'll be careful," grumbled Rajo.

"It's not about careful," said Link. "Your mother was… a witch, a powerful one. Bad things will happen for a lot of people if you don't have a good teacher."

Rajo frowned, glancing at Roan, but said nothing.

"So he's some kind of _special_ bastard. Fine," said Roan, sulky and resentful. "It's still not fair I can't go with you. Somebody has to take care of the house and chickens and everything while you build things for stupid foreigners for stupid rupees and he's away with his stupid teacher."

Link sighed, and braced himself for another outburst. "Your family needs you here, Roan. I'm not from Vosterkun, or even snowpeak province, and neither are you. Vohatyr is just a name your father made up for me. My name is Link, and I was a - a kind of soldier, for Hyrule-"

"Hero," said Rajo, in the voice he used when he was being stubborn. "That's what your name means, that Da gave you. It's not made up at all - it means _hero_ , for being brave, and good, and compassionate, even when the world is terrible."

Roan sniffled, and looked miserable. "Why does _any_ of that have to matter? Why do I have to stay behind? How will I ever be a hero like you when all I ever do is feed goats and catch chickens?"

"Maybe when you're old enough for school, if Ma Idrea says it's ok," said Link, wincing. He had no right to even give Roan the idea, but he couldn't bear the devastation on his face.

"That's not fair either," he muttered. "I'm a whole _month_ older."

"Which is why you absolutely _can't_ come with us now," said Link, hoping he would see reason. "It's important that stays secret so he can study _now_ , just like everybody keeps my secret when the hard men sweep for deserters. Nobody who didn't know for sure otherwise would ever think Rajo is only your age. He's tall as Lamis already, and will be taller yet before the year goes around again. It will be hard enough for him, without the mischief both of you find under every rock."

Roan sulked, and even Rajo looked almost subdued. Almost.

"We won't be gone forever," he said, setting aside his mug. It wasn't what he wanted anyway. "We'll be back next year, for the holiday, when nobody builds anything. If you're good, and you faithfully help Ma and Da and Ensren and Lamis, and watch out for little Taedra, we'll even bring you a special something from the city. Our secret."

"No you won't," said Roan to the floor. "You'll forget me and everybody, just like you always do when Rajo does things."

"I never forget anyone," said Link, holding out a hand to him. "I know it hurts - but you will both need to be strong now, and good and kind, and maybe in this time, everything will be ok in the end."

Roan sighed, and tucked his hand into Link's, letting himself be pulled into an awkward hug.

"I might write you letters," said Rajo into the silence. "As long as you're not stupid, I mean. I bet I'll know all kinds of things weeks - maybe _months_ before your stupid country soldiers do."

"Yeah? Well I might write back," said Roan. "If you don't go all sap-brained and boring living in a big fancy city, I mean."

Rajo snorted. "As if."

Roan made a face at him, kicking off a battle absurd as each tried to outdo the other, which turned soon enough into a game of chase, with Link at the center. When they started leaping up on the cots in their circuit, Link captured both and threatened to throw them both in a snowbank until morning. They laughed, and promised most faithfully to be quiet.

 _If_ he let them eat cookies for dinner.

So he joined them, feasting on sweets and cider, and to hell with the stomachache he'd have in the morning.


	34. Fear No More : 6

Old wood creaked as the anemic morning light began to warm the city. The buzz of the market carried on the wind, even through the cracked shutters and mullioned glass windows. But at least it was muffled. A little. And though the floors were dusty and spiders wove in the corners and roof-beams, the little house was a hundred, a thousand times better than the bright and crowded squares or the desolate and filthy streets.

Hyrule was so rich they left empty bottles in the street and half-eaten food in the gutters to rot.

Rajo eyed the worn switchback staircase, and paced across the empty room while Link folded back the shutters to brighten the dreary place. If he was generous, which he didn't much feel like, there might be twenty paces from neighbor to neighbor, and half again that from street to kitchen door. He folded the grooved double doors back carefully, wincing at the squealing of rusted brass.

"Well," said Link.

"The kitchen is small," said Rajo, trying to figure out how Hylians cooked anything in an oven barely larger than a kettle and a stove with only two plates. Ma Idrea would probably work magic with it anyway, once she got over the shock - and the scandal of having a bathing vat where a pantry ought to be.

"Easier to clean," said Link, opening the flue and checking the stovepipe. He didn't quite hide his flinch of dismay at its condition - easier clearly wasn't easy enough for Hylians. "We'll go to the market for feast days - there are whole shops here that bake nothing but fancy cakes. You'll see - in the city you don't have to make everything yourself, because your neighbors all make different things."

Rajo snorted, peering through the bubbly windows into the desolate little back garden. Mostly dirt and weeds, and one sad little oak sapling entirely overshadowed by the house itself. They would have to build a separate run for the chickens or the whole thing would be mud in a week.

"I can see towers - is that the castle?"

Link stopped trying to pry soot out of the pipe and joined him at the window. "Those - no, those are just watchtowers on the old wall. The castle is much further away. You can't really see it from this side of the city."

"Good," said Rajo, turning away from the cramped and ugly view. "So it will stay quiet here. How long until they bring the cart around with our things?"

Link shrugged. "Much of it is here already. I will go ask the landlord to bring the rest of what I sent ahead, and then we can go to market for our dinner. Unless you'd rather pick your room first?"

Rajo frowned, pacing the main room. He'd rather not have come at all. He already hated the way city people twisted their words and the way the houses crowded together on even twistier streets, and everywhere the winged crest of the royal house, watching.

Link stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard, leaving home."

"It's fine," lied Rajo. "They weren't really my family anyway."

"Family isn't just blood," said Link, dropping to one knee to meet his eye. "Ma Idrea loved you the moment she met you, same as all her other children. And Da Corfo no less. Never doubt that."

Rajo bit back the retort on his tongue, swallowing the bitterness of the silence between them. He _knew_ he should be grateful - for everything they'd all done for him, because of him - but even thinking about it made his stomach ache. He'd always known he didn't really belong - he was too different, in every way that mattered. But at least on the farm, everyone played pretend that he wasn't.

Except for his 'uncle', who rarely slept and never forgot.

"It's stupid that it has to be like this," said Rajo, scowling at the desolate room. He couldn't quite decide whether the open shutters made the hateful place a little less awful or not.

"It's never stupid to learn," said Link, with a sour apple smile. "Even when it's hard, even when it hurts, even if it's not what you wanted it to be, learning true things is good. Just don't forget you're nine now and-"

"Anjotyr, I know," said Rajo. "Don't tell fairy stories, don't play in the mud even if it's the really good stuff, don't play with littles, don't forget to add three to whenever things were, don't show people worms and frogs. I won't forget."

"Hey," said Link, brushing his hand through Rajo's hair. "It's hard for me too. I like frogs. Maybe I should dig us a pond, and we can keep frogs instead of cuccos, and they will sing us lullabies."

Rajo made a face. "But frogs don't lay eggs anyone would want to eat."

Link grinned. "Fish like to. _Big_ fish. Why don't you look upstairs before we go, and pick which side of the landing you like best. Might be a good thing to know before we go to market."

Rajo groaned, smoothing back the wisps Link had knocked loose. No one was going to take him seriously with his braid lopsided and messy. And he definitely needed different clothes. Rajo wasn't quite sure what he _did_ need, only that these would no longer do. Anyone with eyes in their head must realize he wasn't even halfway grown up yet if he was always wearing Ensren's old things.

"Which trunk has the hanging mirror in it? I need to fix something."

"You look fine, Jojo."

Rajo rolled his eyes, and pulled away to fetch the combs from his own satchel by the door. "Which is why I need the bigger mirror."

Link sighed. "I know I don't have Ma Idrea's skill at braiding, but if you try to be patient and let me practice-"

"Hylians don't wear their hair in braids anyway," said Rajo, digging all the way to the bottom of the satchel for the small wool-wrapped hand mirror. Why did the important stuff always end up underneath everything else?

"Some do," said Link.

"You don't," said Rajo, bundling the bone combs and little mirror and curved fishknife together. "The boys in the marketplace all have short hair like you."

"Only because it is easier," said Link with a sigh. "Long ago, when I was little - you see, the people I lived with - in the before of the first-"

"It's fine," said Rajo, even though it wasn't. He didn't like the way Link's voice had changed or how his eyes pinned. "I'll take care of it."

"No," said Link, still half-kneeling.

"No what?" said Rajo, stomping towards the stairs with the bundle in his fist. "It's _my_ hair. I don't need _help_."

"Please," said Link, his voice harsh as if the wildfire was yesterday. "Let me fix it."

Rajo rolled his eyes, squashing the weird pain when he imagined what Ma Idrea would say about that if she were here. He took extra care to make every single tread squeal as he stomped up to the second floor, refusing to even look back.

At the landing he found three doors, all partway open. The middle one across from the stairs shielded a tiny cubicle holding only a cistern-fed necessary and sink. The others boxed in the remaining sides of the square, one east, one west.

Rajo considered the advancing sliver of light from the former, and turned heel for the latter. On any normal day, Link rarely spoke to anyone before noon if he could avoid it - but he would be laboring with all the other masons and carpenters at dawn. Better still if they could buy a few cuccos anyway, and build a pen for them in Link's room to help him rise with morning.

The sooner he could get a chest full of fat rupees from the work boss, the sooner they could hire their own stupid sorcerer to fix the magic and they could leave.

Anyways, Rajo didn't mind the dark. Lessons would be on city hours anyway: _he_ wouldn't even need to get out of bed until eleven.

Rajo stood on the threshold, baffled by the gentle gold shimmer filling the room. Great hulking shadowed chests sat in the middle of the floor, outlined in the luscious gold pouring from the window. Rajo circled the banded chests warily, curious how the light could even reach the west side so early.

"Maybe because it is upstairs," Rajo told himself, squinting as he reached to touch the light. Nothing really magical at all, which was weirdly disappointing. Someone had collected enough yellow rupees together to set them in a delicate iron lattice so even the smallest ray would catch on the delicate facets and fill the whole room. Rajo turned his back to its beauty, determined to hate it as he already hated everything else about this wretched country.

But he couldn't resist peeking inside the chests. It wasn't as if they were locked - and he trying to find the large mirror anyway. Instead, he found heaps of tapestries and rugs in one, and much-flattened cushions in another. The largest two held mysterious sections of carved and shaped fragrant wood packed with bags of pegs and iron fittings. A smaller chest held fine blown glass vessels in strange shapes, all nestled in clean wool around a smooth ebony box of priceless lenses.

"Well," said Link, leaning against the doorframe.

"This isn't from the farm," said Rajo, closing the lid reluctantly.

Link shrugged.

Rajo waited, but Link's cold blue eyes offered him nothing. Another question to stuff in the box in his mind where he kept all the other questions no one would ever answer. "How many days before lessons begin?"

"About a week," said Link. "If you don't want any of it, you don't have to use it. We can buy different things."

Rajo shrugged, snorting a little to cover the tightness in his throat. "No, I like them. I just wondered. It's fine."

Link gave him that sour apple smile again. "It's not, but it will be. We'll fix it together this time."

"Yeah," said Rajo, wondering what he meant. Maybe he was angry Rajo didn't want his help with his hair, even though Link really was hopeless with it. "After the market. I'm hungry and I'm tired of soup."

Link snorted. "Come on then - I think it is still early enough for the fried cake shop to have plenty of the spiral ones. You will like those."

"And then a tailor," said Rajo, pulling his braid down and smoothing everything into a simple looped queue he could hide under a hood. Hyrule felt colder than home, windy and wet. Plenty of Hylians wore hoods or hats anyway, and maybe people would stare less this way. "Ensren's old clothes are still too big, and even if I let all the seams out on my tunics -"

"Just roll the cuffs - you're growing again, and in half a year those will be too small if we cut them down now."

Rajo rolled his eyes. "And then _no one_ will believe I'm nine, _Vohatyr_."

Link flinched, and stared at the floor for a long moment while Rajo checked for stray curls with the small mirror. "No black."

"Gray. And maybe blue, like in the vest Ma made. Grownup colors."

Link sucked a breath through his teeth and nodded. "Cake first."

Rajo grinned. "Cake should _always_ be first."

\- o - O - o -

Evening improved the little row house, or at least Rajo's opinion of it. He lingered in complete idleness in the steaming bathing vat in the far corner of the kitchen until his fingers were wrinkled as dried figs. He sometimes leaned out of the steamcloud to watch Link unpack their things or build what little furniture they would begin with, but Link never told him to hurry and be done, so he didn't.

He almost felt guilty for being so lazy, but none of the inns they stopped by on the long road here had offered anything like a proper bath. Surely Link missed it too, but Rajo refused to surrender the water until he at least _asked_.

Of course, falling asleep in the bath wasn't dignified either. Rajo took his time washing and combing and trying to oil his long hair, yawning the whole time. It was hard work, and it took three times as long to feel clean as it should have.

Link still didn't notice - or at least didn't say anything. Not even when he came to the kitchen to collect the whistling kettle. He hummed absently to himself, fussing with tea leaves and the fat, brightly painted pot Lamis made for them.

Rajo shoved away the painful memory. Only littles cried. He had to be nine now, responsible and serious and hardworking, so he could tame the magic that made accidents happen and go home.

Then again, the farm wasn't really home either. Not for Link, and not for him. But maybe if he worked hard enough, maybe he too could be an expensive sorcerer one day and people would bring him enough rupees that they could stay at the farm forever and Da Corfo would forgive the fire and everything else. And maybe when he was more powerful than the magic, the dreams would stop too.

Rajo pretended to be cleaning his nails when Link brought him one of the steaming teacups. He wasn't sure he could hold back the questions burning in his throat if he let so much as a thank you roll from his tongue now. Ma Idrea would scold him for it - but she wasn't here. And wouldn't be.

"Don't scowl so," said Link, cooling his own cup of tea with amber spirits Rajo could smell even above the scent of his soaps and oils. "It's not some apothecary brew. You like it. And it has honey in it."

"It doesn't taste like honey," said Rajo, cursing himself for burning his tongue like an idiot little. He hoped Link didn't notice. He couldn't bear his sympathies right now, or his scolding.

"It's a different kind of honey," said Link after a long moment. His voice wobbled in a strange way when he said it, and he took a long pull from his own cup. "Where do you want me to put your bed?"

Rajo shrugged. "I can build it myself tomorrow. Ensren showed me how it goes together."

Link winced, and stared at his cup. "Don't be in such a hurry to grow up. All of this is only because -"

"I know," said Rajo, gritting his teeth. "You don't have to remind me. I'm not a baby. I won't forget what happened."

"It's my fault." Link shook his head. "I knew you would need a good teacher long in the before. I thought there would be more time - I hoped I could find a better way to help fix it before it hurt you. I'm sorry."

Rajo wiped his nose with the back of his hand and looked away. He _would not_ cry. He felt hideous, just as all the voices in his dreams said he was. He _should_ be grateful. Link was only trying to help. He came back to the country he hated to work as a common laborer when he was anything but. To a horrible place which would surely punish him terribly if they found out he ran away from the war.

All because his halfbreed son couldn't control his stupid magic.

Rajo sat in the steaming water and wrestled with his anger and the queasy sort of pain in his stomach that he always had when his mind wandered where it shouldn't. No doubt whatever Link felt worse every time he even looked at Rajo, and _he_ never complained.

Link finished his tea in silence and poured himself a second cup. Rajo climbed out of the water and wrapped himself in one of the enormous fluffy indigo bath sheets Ma Idrea insisted they take with them to Hyrule. She said she didn't trust the long-eared foreigners to have proper cloth, but Da Corfo told him in secret it was her way of sending hugs with them even in exile.

Rajo wasn't very good at not thinking about things.

He dripped his way to the dry sink and stood on his toes to set his cup safely inside. Link ignored him, or at least he pretended to, until Rajo poked his side with one of the bone combs. He blinked absently at Rajo, as if he couldn't understand what was right under his nose.

"My hair will be snarls in the morning if it's not braided," said Rajo.

Link winced. "I'm sorry."

"You'll never get better if you don't practice," said Rajo, offering him the combs again.

"Maybe," said Link, his pale face flooding with pink as he touched the top of Rajo's head with hesitant fingers. "It's... hard. And anyways your hair has a mind of its own."

Rajo shrugged. "So does magic."

Link shook his head as he smoothed back already rebellious curls. "No. Magic has just need a good teacher."

"Why can't _you_ be my teacher?" Rajo regretted the lapse even as the words fell from his lips. The question had plagued him since he overheard the grownups talking. He was pretty sure he knew the answer already, but it wouldn't stop coming to the top of his tongue - and now, past it.

Link pulled back his hand as if burned.

"This is all so _stupid_ ," said Rajo, turning away. "I never wanted this curse. It's not my fault. Things _happen_ and I can't- I can't do _anything_ to stop them and-"

"Shh," said Link, catching his shoulder. "Please don't be angry, Jojo. That will only make the bad things worse. I can't be your teacher because-"

"Because I remind you of the war. I know," sighed Rajo. "It's fine. It's just stupid."

Link turned him around and laid his other hand on his shoulder, trying to meet his eye. "I can't teach you how to tame your magic because I don't know _how_. I hoped we had a few more years - but I was wrong. I don't want you or anyone to suffer for my mistakes anymore. You need the best teachers I can find, teachers who can strengthen the light inside you. Don't - don't ever doubt that light, Jojo."

Rajo let Link pull him into a rare embrace, reveling in the treat even as his heart raced and ached. "It's hard."

"I know," said Link, petting his hair as he cradled Rajo against his chest. "Shadows will always try to find a way in. That's what shadows do. You must always guard that light with hope, _especially_ when it's hard."

"Yeah," sighed Rajo. "I'll try."

Link pulled him tight again. "So will I."


	35. Fear No More : 7 : T-13

Autumn rain whispered against the windows and softened the edges of everything. Golden halos bloomed around the lanterns as the air grew heavy and damp, hushing the noise of the other students' riotous exit. Rajo lingered in the classroom, taking fastidious care to straighten the pages of his books and align their spines perfectly in his section of the low shelves lining the room. The afternoon instructor shook her head at him, but said nothing.

They'd sat for exams today, so the big wall slates were already clear. Rajo could invent no other excuse to linger. The others seemed to have moved on though - perhaps restless after too many hours of sitting and remembering and solving puzzles. He gathered his satchel and took his time at the tarnished mirror in the cloakroom.

It was good to have an excuse to wrap his bright muffler high and pull his hood forward. Most folk in Castletown were more or less Hylian, even if their ears could only be called pointy when you squinted. Outsiders were amusing curiosities to gawk at and question - and blame for any and all misfortunes.

Roan would start a fight in his place, but he wouldn't care what happened next when he did. He wouldn't have to - _he_ wasn't witchborn.

Thinking of Roan reminded him of the letter in his writing desk at home, unanswered. He should make the climb to the hill overlooking the barracks soon, maybe today. Lightsday was good for spying, because everyone was either busy with attending their devotions or avoiding the same.

Rajo slipped through the close alley between two enormous guildhouses and vaulted over the low fence into the garden behind. Ma Idrea would surely love it as he did if she could but see its rambling and overgrown glory, full of fragrant blossoms. The house the garden belonged to never held anyone but servants, and they didn't worry about child-thieves the way some Hylians did. Maybe they had nothing worth stealing.

Sometimes the housemaiden even came out to walk with him - but not today, with the weather even a little dreary. She took chill easily, and had better be curled up by the fire and leave her chores for a warmer day. Rajo didn't mind - he didn't really like his notebooks to get wet, and Anna always wanted to know about his studies, even the really boring ones at the abbey.

Anna was easy to talk to, and she didn't care that Rajo wasn't like other boys. He was surprised to realize he would miss her when they left Castletown for the winter holiday. Everything else about this country he was certain he could live a hundred years without, except perhaps this strange refuge in the shadow of the great temple complex.

"I will bring her something," Rajo muttered as he let himself through the far garden gate into a narrow street leading to the east market. He didn't carry many rupees with him, but he could always raid one of the wishing fountains if he needed to. Vah Kamenus would be furious if he knew how Rajo plotted to misuse his teachings, but what else was such a minor fetching spell good for anyway? It wasn't a fast magic, and wouldn't work on anything heavy or which he couldn't see.

Anyways, he knew he'd replace what he borrowed later, next time Link unlocked his blue brass-bound chest. The fountain spirit would understand. He just needed Anna to remember him. It was important.

What she would like best though, he did _not_ know. Rajo wandered through the small east market, frowning over each of the little shop-carts. Grownups mostly ignored him, as they often did on Lightsday, so he even had a kind of bubble of quiet to himself in the middle of chaos.

If he was buying for Lamis, this would be easy. She loved anything bright, but rare pigments and new patterns best of all. Roan's wishes he could not answer, for he wanted a real sword most of all, and Da Corfo would never allow it.

For little Taedra, anything sweet would do. Ensren wanted nothing at all, or pretended to. Rajo knew his true weakness - books. Any and all books he encountered, he read. The challenge with him was finding something truly new or rare.

"This is _not_ a present for Anna," Rajo muttered under his breath. Vah Kamenus would lecture him on discipline again if he knew how his worst student couldn't even focus on a task of his own choosing.

It wasn't his fault. Everything in the market worth seeing suggested itself as a gift for someone - but nothing quite suited Anna. Brightly patterned ribbons seemed too garish for her, and what use had she for a set of delicate bluesteel throwing knives? She never said anything at all of her own reading, and a bag of bright sugarbloom trifles seemed entirely childish. He was supposed to be ten now, after all.

Rajo climbed the alley stairs and up the iron ladder to the roof of the corner shop, heading home empty handed. Rain came so often to Hyrule that they built everything with deep eaves and wide gutters, well supported. The leap from one section to the next wasn't far. He didn't care if he did splash - he wore sturdy boots, and anyone below ought to be wearing a hood anyway.

Rajo always made a tidy profit on this road, collecting chipped rupee shards from the detritus, no doubt forgotten by crows. That was how he noticed Link in the market below. He should have been working. Unless a true downpour came, Link took but one rest day in a week - the ping and thud and whine of construction always underlay the babble of the crowd, even on Lightsday, even in a misting rain.

Rajo slipped into the shadow of a false gable, hidden even if Link looked up, which he didn't.

He just stood at the gem-setter's table, his golden hair fallen into his face and his broad shoulders painfully squared. People might as well have jostled a stone for all he moved.

The merchant didn't seem to care. Rajo couldn't hear much but the lilting whine with which they said it. He tried to convince himself to keep going, to get home before Link could. Whatever the reason for his leisure, it surely would mean less time to spy for Roan.

Link said something. The merchant laughed, waving a dismissive hand. Link raised his eyes from the table only enough to meet the merchant's and even Rajo shivered at his hard looks.

"I said - _how much_."

The merchant tittered and fumbled after excuses. Link moved not at all. Heads turned, and the crowd pulled away a little from the stranger with the harsh voice.

The merchant named a price.

Rajo held his breath.

The crowd relaxed and turned back to their various errands when Link opened his purse. Rajo didn't - but perhaps he was the only one who could see the unsettling blue glitter inside. The merchant should have - but they were entirely consumed with filling their own purse with the gold and silver rupees Link gave them.

Rajo counted far more of both than a plain carpenter and mason should ever see at once. Where had he gotten - or hidden - that kind of money? Why live as a near pauper for seven years if he had a king's ransom at his command? And what was so precious that he would actually _spend_ it?

Rajo eased closer, trying to see which glittering pieces the merchant packed away. He wasn't sure what all of them were, but the pectoral he knew at once to be glorious topaz. That piece maybe _was_ worth a hundred rupees - but not as much as Link paid.

Not that he seemed to care. He stood motionless and silent while they packed his purchases in black wool inside a wide, shallow box.

Rajo lingered. Once Link marched away down a side street with his gems, the merchant laughed. They giggled with their neighbor about the fierce fool who hadn't even blinked at 'the Gerudo story' and obliviously paid three times the value of the ornaments without a breath of question.

That couldn't be normal, even for his eccentric 'uncle'.

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Rajo decided to spy on the parade ground first, and go home later. It better explained the muck on his trousers anyway, and gave him time to think. Not that he should have been worried on either count, as it happened.

Link wasn't inside the little house at all, though all the lanterns burned bright. Rajo turned down the wicks as he went upstairs, surprised to see Link's bedroom both wide open and empty. He wrestled with the temptation to see if he could pick the lock on the big blue and brass chest.

"Better to wait," he told himself, changing into fresh clothes and hiding the others deep in the laundry bin. He didn't know how long Link would be gone, and getting caught formed no part of his plans.

The yellow window in his own room glowed even as twilight fell - which must mean lights somewhere behind the house. Even yellow rupees didn't shine on their own. Rajo listened carefully, but heard nothing.

Then again, Link could be frighteningly quiet when his mind started looping. Rajo couldn't hear him without being very close, and even then it rarely made sense. Mostly it was like listening to a thunderstorm and a wildfire and cracking stone and flooding rapids all at once, and the images in his head flickered like lightning from one thing to another.

Everyone on the farm agreed the war must have been especially horrible for Link.

Rajo decided to look for him. Perhaps he went to buy more spirits at the public house, or maybe he ran into thieves on the way home. He wasn't sure what help he could be, but maybe if Link _was_ in trouble, Rajo could wish something at his enemies.

Or maybe he just fell asleep in their little garden again. He did that sometimes, sitting down too long between tasks.

Rajo peeked out the back window - Link sat on one of the carved benches he'd built that summer with an empty cup in his hands. Not asleep, but he barely noticed Rajo come to stand beside him.

"Hey," said Rajo.

Link only grunted and kept staring at the sad oak sapling in the middle of the garden. An earthenware jug sat beside his feet, and the shallow ebony box on the far end of the bench.

Rajo stared at their little tree also, and wondered if it would survive the winter. Despite Link's careful tending, the little plot still seemed dreadfully bare with stumpy secondhand rose canes and herbs gone to seed. The oak sapling in the center of it all looked especially silly with its overproud flourish of exactly thirteen fat copper leaves.

"It's getting cold," said Rajo. Link's clothes were soaked through, and Ma Idrea would have scolded him for such negligence.

"How was school," said Link, bending to recover the jug and tilt more of its spirits into his cup. This one smelled sweet and somehow hot, less unpleasant than some of those he brought home.

"Fine," said Rajo. "How long before we leave for holiday? Master Budro wants to make me a list of things so I won't fall behind while we're gone."

Link nodded. "So you're doing well? In all your studies?"

"Yeah," lied Rajo. "It's fine. So when do we leave?"

"The snow won't be too bad this year. And we won't need a cart this time, so." Link shrugged. "I can start making inquiries next week or so, find out when the architect will call the season closed."

Rajo frowned. "So we just leave everything here."

"Don't worry. Won't be gone long," said Link, lifting his cup. "Maybe a month."

Rajo made a face. "That's not enough time for _anything_. Can't we stay through planting?"

"You hate planting," said Link.

"So? School is even _more_ boring," said Rajo, though he didn't really mean it. "At least Da and Ensren will need us for the kidding. Roan is especially stupid at that."

Link laughed, short and bitter. He didn't need to say it - they both knew he was making excuses. Neither of them fit well in Castletown.

But where else could they go?


	36. Fear No More : 8

Autumn mornings in Hyrule began with shy blue light and a rising wind. The trees whispered as Castletown stretched and groaned under ash-blue clouds. The noise of masons and carpenters beginning their day drowned out the gossip of songbirds long before the sun shooed away the clouds and the heavy outer gates opened to the world.

Rajo refused to even acknowledge the daylight's hateful advance. He pulled the patterned bed curtains closed and sulked alone in the dark. Castletown could see to itself - he wanted nothing whatever to do with it.

They would be leaving week after next, and Rajo still hadn't found a proper gift for Anna. Worse, Vah Kamenus refused to let him borrow _any_ of the concordances he was supposed to be copying. Master Budro's reading list was so long he'd never finish half of it in a whole season of work and never mind a holiday month. Only the maths instructor understood anything at all, and only her work list resembled possibility. He could even begin it now if he wanted. Which he didn't.

Eventually the sheer boringness of staring at the shadows on the intricate tapestry over his bed sent him into a restless sort of drowse. Memories and dreams nibbled at the frayed edges of his mind, and still he pulled the blankets high and refused to budge until nature demanded he move at least a little.

Link was away building walls and towers for Hylian overseers, so he washed his face and retied his hair in a simple three-strand plait. It came out lopsided, but no one would see anyway. He fed himself simply on bread and cheese stolen from the tiny pantry Link built under the stairs, and returned to bed.

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Link knocked at his door on the sixth day, and wouldn't go away until Rajo agreed to let him in. Mostly because he promised sweet tea and honeyed nut cakes, and Rajo could smell both even through the door.

"Hey," said Link when Rajo opened the door. "You feeling any better? You didn't tell me you were getting sick."

"Yeah? So what," said Rajo, taking the dish of cakes from the tray and retreating back to bed with it.

Link sighed, and followed with the rest. "You haven't been to school in days."

"So," said Rajo.

"So everything." Link hooked the chair from under Rajo's desk with his foot and dragged it over beside the bed. He settled the footed tray cautiously on the bed next to Rajo and draped himself backwards over the chair, crossing his arms on the top rail. "The headmaster sent me a message, and I talked to your teachers today."

Rajo scowled into his cup of tea. "Who else ratted me out? Vah Kamenus?"

Link shook his head, pouring tea for both of them. It smelled of flowers and freshly turned soil and of course, honey. "Talk to me, Jojo. Why don't you want to go to school?"

"School is stupid," said Rajo. "I don't see what reading about dead people and counting made-up goats has to do with anything _important_ anyway."

"Learning things is never stupid," said Link, cooling his tea with his breath. "What happened, Jojo?"

"Nothing," lied Rajo.

Link only stared at him and waited.

"I hate this place," snapped Rajo.

"I know," said Link.

Rajo snarled at him in sheer frustration, but Link didn't look away or even flinch. He looked almost _sad_. That was somehow worse than yelling.

"It wasn't my fault," mumbled Rajo.

"Ah," said Link. He drank his tea, and shook his head. "It never is, is it?"

Rajo rolled his eyes. "I mean it. I'm doing all the _stupid_ tasks Vah Kamenus gives me, and I pray to the stupid gods _every morning_ , and _nothing_ changes. It's completely stupid and I'm _not_ going anymore and _you can't make me_."

"That doesn't sound like nothing," said Link quietly.

Rajo glared.

Link waited.

"I burnt the velvet, ok?" Rajo growled, looking away. His stomach churned and his ears burned with the shame of it all. "It's all ruined, and Vah Kamenus doesn't even want me in his class anyway, so good riddance."

"What happened?"

"I told you," Rajo snarled. "I burnt it. I didn't mean to, but I did, and now it's ruined. I'm _never_ going back and I don't care what anybody thinks!"

"Ah," said Link, finishing his tea. "But. You do care, or you wouldn't lock yourself away like this. Tell me _exactly_ what happened when the velvet burned, so we can solve the riddle together this time."

Rajo stared, dumbfounded. Link wasn't yelling even a little bit, though a single ell of the black wool velvet cost fifty rupees. Vah Kamenus had turned a fascinating shade of purple when it happened. _Then_ the yelling started.

Link picked up a little cake for himself, and nudged the plate towards Rajo.

So Rajo told him how his stitches wobbled and how he did the pattern backwards the first time. How he spent two days carefully unpicking all the thread-of-silver and indigo silk and brushing the velvet so he could do it over. How he fought with tangling thread and stupid slippery needles to make his stitches even, while the rest of the class learned how to write the secret names of the spirit the black cloths were _for_.

He didn't mean for it to happen. He was just so _angry_. He saw red spots just thinking about it - but only littles cried and threw tantrums. He was supposed to be ten. And he was witchborn. This should have been _easy_.

The reek of burning sugar brought him back to himself at once, and he dropped the cake back among the others. Two misshapen black marks glared from where his fingers had touched it. Because _of course_ they did.

"We will fix it," Link said softly, offering his hand. "I will buy some new velvet tonight, and we'll work on it together."

Rajo looked at his hand and nursed the ache in his chest. "And when I ruin that one too?"

Link shook his head. "Don't think about that yet. Rest for now - we have some work to do."

Rajo frowned. "What kind of work?"

"You'll see," said Link with a sour-apple smile. "It's a secret."

 _ **-o - O - o -**_

Rajo paced the confines of the cold grotto, uneasy in the eerie blue light. He didn't like the glowing crystals at the grotto entrance and he didn't like the queasy blue-purple light from the glowing stone Link brought with him. He'd wondered why Link brought an iron pot with them, but now that it held the blue-purple stone he found he'd rather Link brought the lid too.

The grotto didn't get any larger or brighter for circling it a third time.

"Don't be stubborn," said Link, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked so strange and almost ghostly in this light. "Call your magic. It's important."

"I know _that_ ," snapped Rajo, kicking a pebble savagely. It bounced off the hard-packed dirt and stone walls and landed with a plop in a puddle of stale rainwater. "I just can't ok? This is stupid."

"You can and you will," said Link, his voice hard. "It's nothing you haven't already done a thousand times before. I know _what_ you're capable of - I need to see _how_ you're doing it."

"That's not fair," Rajo growled, crossing his own arms over his chest and planting his feet. "I haven't broken _that_ many things - anyways this is completely different. I won't do it. I won't."

"We can't go home until you do," said Link with a shrug. "Show me how these accidents happen."

"I can't do it. You don't understand - I _don't know_ why it happens," Rajo shouted. Maybe if he was louder, Link would hear him. "It just _does_. Stupid witchblood I never even wanted-"

"Then we'll stay right here until it does," said Link, settling into a parade rest stance he could hold for hours on end.

Rajo kicked pebbles and paced and wrestled with his anger.

Link waited.

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Rajo woke slowly, confused and a little dizzy. His stomach roared - and somewhere in the formless darkness he smelled toasted cheese and spiced apples. He rolled over, and he felt the inside of his head slosh painfully against his eyes.

He pressed his face into the soft floof of a down pillow and tried to think of nothing but breathing, as Vah Kamenus taught.

Rajo wasn't at all good at not thinking about things.

Everything about last night was somehow jumbled and fuzzy around the edges. Where last night he knew he'd gotten angry, now he felt hollowed out. He'd lost all sense of time in that grotto, and didn't even know how they'd gotten home. If he was home. It certainly felt like his own bed. It smelled right.

So what happened? Besides losing his temper? Besides Link calling some weird light-prism? If in fact it wasn't just another nightmare.

Rajo fumbled for the curtains and peered out into the soft darkness of his own room. The golden window held only the faintest glow, and all the shadows of his furniture and books and discarded clothing fell exactly where they should.

Rajo pulled himself out of bed and rubbed gunk from his eyes. He had to push his sleeves up to do it - for some reason he was wearing a kitten-soft tunic many sizes too large. He peeked out onto the quiet landing, and caught the glimmer of lamplight from downstairs.

"Good morning," said Link from somewhere below.

Rajo grunted, working his way carefully down the stairs. He felt almost like his head might roll away without him if he moved it too much. The smell of breakfast was only stronger downstairs - and when Link uncovered a tray of all his favorite things on the table, he couldn't stop himself. He stuffed his face with sweet and savory, blind to anything but the next bite until it was gone.

Link sat across from him in silence, drinking tea and waiting, red-eyed.

Rajo hiccuped and stared at the table as he wiped grease from his face. The shallow box lay open in the middle of it, overflowing with silver and topaz jewels. He didn't know what to ask first.

"These are yours," said Link, touching the bright cabochon in the middle of one triangle bauble. "They say topaz is drops of sunlight caught in stone. But they _also_ say it carries the power of lightning."

"Don't need help with that," grumped Rajo. The jewels were beautiful - but whether it really happened or not, the vision of Link's skin crawling with lightning unsettled him.

"No, I think I've been looking at the riddle upside down," said Link, shaking his head. "They were always meant for you. I just didn't understand. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," said Rajo, even though he didn't really understand at all. "Can we go home now? _Home_ -home?"

"Not yet," said Link with a sigh. He picked up a book from beside him and slid it across the table. "This is also yours. It will help you."

"I don't want _help_ ," muttered Rajo.

"I know," said Link. "It's okay, you know. You didn't do anything wrong. I asked you to show me, and you did. I'm not hurt, see?"

Rajo hiccuped and folded his arms and tried to count slow breaths like Vah Kamenus said. So it did happen. It wasn't a dream and it wasn't really an accident. _He_ called the lightning.

Link came around the table and offered his open hand. Rajo looked - Link didn't have any more scars than he did yesterday. Except for the redness about his eyes, and a hint of spirits on his breath, he was unhurt, just as he said.

"It's ok," said Link, drawing him into a fierce embrace. "Just - talk to me, Jojo. I can't help you if you lock yourself away in the dark like that. Hold onto light - to hope. I'm here for you. Always."


	37. Fear No More : 9 : T-11

Summer roses filled the garden with a syrupy, somnolent musk. The heat of the day felt somehow heavier in their shadow, where the buzz of a hundred thousand insects living out their tiny lives drowned out even the deafening noise of solstice crowds outside.

Rajo leaned back against the comfortable crookedness of the willow tree at the heart of the garden, and helped himself to another tiny ginger cake.

Anna laughed at him, and snapped the bright linen in her hands so a fine mist flew his way. "Lazy thing - shouldn't you be out there, celebrating and carrying on?"

"Cake first," said Rajo, licking his fingers to get all the sugar-dust.

"You've been saying that for the last half-dozen," she said, draping the cloth over the memoryleaf hedges to soak up the sun. "Leave some for me, glutton."

Rajo pretended to consider it. "If you _really_ wanted cake, you'd leave that stupid stuff for later. So really, I'm doing you a favor-"

Anna laughed and threw a wet petticoat at him. It never would have connected anyway, but he made a great show of flailing about with glittering witchfire as he cast a fetching spell in reverse. Kamenus would have him scrubbing candelabra for a month if he knew what use his elegant cantrips saw in Rajo's hands, but Anna would never tell on him.

Probably.

Anyways, she still wore the bright fire-and-ice patterned shawl he gave her almost two years ago, whatever the weather. She never _really_ shooed him out of the garden, either. And she always giggled when she scolded him.

"A fine mess you are today," she said, pinning the petticoat on the line properly this time. "Don't you have work of your own to attend? If you're not going to be festive, at least you could be useful."

"I finished my reports yesterday." Rajo shrugged, folding his arms behind his head. "What does it matter anyway? It's just some poetry and parades. The only magic in all of it is little stuff, luck charms and little glamours. You're not missing anything."

Anna shook her head at him, hanging the rest of the laundry with a meditative grace. Watching her work soothed him in a way he couldn't quite explain. She didn't seem to mind - she said she liked having company. Usually she had afternoons free, but on hot days like this one, the head keeper liked to do as much wash as they could find places to dry it. Anyways, Hylians had a thing about cleaning house from rooftree to cellar in the month before solstice.

Stupid superstition, really. The spirits of disorder were far stronger at the other end of the year entirely.

"There," said Anna, clipping the last pin in place and surveying her work with her hands on her hips. "That should be everything, unless we lost a sock down the sluice-gate again. Do your books have any spells for that?"

Rajo shook his head. "Why use magic when wire-cloth would do as well or better?"

"Wire rusts, and all the faster with washing soap on it." Anna laughed, but she joined him in the shade, stretching out on the blanket he'd given her last year. Unlike the shawl, the blanket was all in somber stormcloud colors, exactly as it came off the sheep. Except cleaner.

She seemed to like it well enough, at least. He wasn't sure what to bring her this year, but that was months away yet. For now, he would share his cakes - and enjoy her surprise when she looked at the plate again and found delicate chocolates dusted with Terminan spice mixed in with the common cakes.

\- _**o - O - o -**_

Anna's garden at twilight reflected all the glories of sunset, humming with vibrant life. Rajo loved this hour, when the noise of the city faded and the prickly thrumming feel of the magic shifted. Especially at solstice, after the streets emptied and assembly rooms filled. The dance of the long days and the onrushing shadow always seemed to suggest mysterious things hidden just beyond his reach. Sometimes he imagined he could even hear voices on the wind.

Anna yawned. "Shouldn't you be going home?"

"Not yet," said Rajo, placing a bright ribbon to mark their place in the book he was reading to her. "Voh is always last to leave the worksite. Anyways why does it matter where I study?"

She laughed, tying off the threads of her mending. "Reading wondertales to a servant isn't studying, Anjo."

"Pfft. Then you haven't been listening." Rajo rolled his eyes at her. "Legends and stuff are basically histories of magic, or else like if cookbooks were turned into a story so you'd remember it better."

"Vah Kamenus said that?"

"Old men like him don't know everything," Rajo began, distracted by a strange glimmer in the shadows of the big house.

Anna turned to discover what he was staring at. She squeaked and dropped her mending as two shadowed figures dropped over the garden wall with hushed curses.

Rajo knew those words. Link said them when he didn't think anybody was listening, and sometimes when the spirits unlocked his tongue. He didn't know what most of them meant, but it must be amazing because they made his teachers go red-faced when he said them.

Rajo handed the book to Anna and stood, reciting a minor light-my-path spell. Topaz shivered against his skin, and bright threads of lightning sparks spun out above his head and shot towards the intruders. They dropped their burdens to draw shining curved swords.

One hissed something he didn't understand except that it was about Hylians.

"Silence, and you live," said the other. "Maybe."

"Leave, or you don't," returned Rajo, weaving a wicked-looking 'blade' of lightning for himself. He wasn't sure if it would really be good for anything in a fight, but this was one of his favorite spells from the weird old journal Link gave him. Or at least his favorite so far that actually _worked_.

Both of the intruders swore. But - they lowered their swords even as he brandished his. Anna hid behind him, whispering 'no' over and over, as if that would do anything at all.

One of the strangers stepped forward, and between the lightning-threads and the angle of sunset, now he could see how very tall she was. She wore strange clothing, and one of her ears looked like there was a piece missing. She growled something at him in strange words, gesturing with her free hand.

The other said something else about Hylians.

"Go away," he said, pointing toward the gate with his lightning blade. Just in case it did something stupid, burning wood wasn't so bad. "Why are you even here? Nobody said you could come in. Who are you?"

The woman in the light laughed, and the bright gems they both wore at wrist and throat and brow sparkled. It was hard to be sure in the twilight but her short floofy hair looked almost red as his own, and her skin as dark. She said something he didn't understand, except that it seemed like a question.

Rajo advanced, trying to look dangerous. "No - _I_ will ask the questions and _you_ will answer. I hear guards - they're following you, aren't they? Why? Were you in a fight? Are you a thief?"

The one in the shadows lowered her blade, stepping forward so he could see she too was tall and brown and red-haired, wearing the same strange clothes and curl-toed boots. She shook her head at him, and said something to the other, who sheathed her blade.

"Where are your sisters?" The woman with the short hair spoke with a strange accent, like her tongue couldn't quite finish the shapes of the words.

"Who do you think you are? What would you know about my family?"

"Pfah," she said, narrowing her eyes. "More than you maybe-"

Rajo didn't get to ask her any other questions. The shouting on the other side of the wall grew closer, and the strangers swore again. They reclaimed their burdens as the guard found the gate.

Rajo hid his magic when he saw their bright helmets and spears bristling. The strangers raced down the twisted garden paths and vanished in the deep shadow of the bigger house on the other side of the garden. The town guard followed.

Mostly.

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Rajo frowned at their own bland, straggly garden, shamelessly eating more than half the oatnut cakes on his own. Link didn't notice, or at least didn't say anything about it. His muttering was mostly just trying to remember how to weave a six-strand plait.

To be fair, he was getting better at it. He still struggled with spinebraids of any kind, and he would probably always need a cup of applejack at his side before he could start. But on most days he didn't actually even drink much of it until after Rajo's hair was tidy again.

Rajo should probably have felt bad about eating some of Link's share while his hands were busy, but he couldn't help it. Even the shame of being insulted by the guard and marched home like a wayward hooligan, and the awkward pain of Link telling the old lie about the island orphan he adopted in his wanderings, even after a whole roast cucco pie to himself, he was still hungry. Maybe Link was right, and he would grow taller again this fall.

And he would know, wouldn't he?

Rajo grumped in the general direction of the watchtower to the west, and picked up his tea again. An early birthday present - not just this one pot, but a whole tin of leaves for each of his favorite blends, two dark, one red, and this white jasmine one. Link even gave him two bottles of honey all for his own, one yellow-gold and one of darkest amber.

He'd talked about building a shelf maybe, later this year, just for tea things. And a glass-house off the kitchen, to grow little citron bushes and firefruit and rare safflinas that didn't like the cold.

If they stayed.

Even a week ago, Rajo would have embraced _anything_ that meant leaving the city behind. But that was before he saw actual Gerudo, not just pictures in books or quarterblood nobodies from Ordon and such. Before the pieces of all Link's silences fit together.

Now _Link_ wanted to run. He couldn't even say where, but as soon as the town guard finished yelling about thieves and left, he told Rajo to start packing his things. Rajo tried to explain that nobody minded if he stole a few roses or a nap in a fragrant sunbeam, but Link wouldn't hear it.

With foreign thieves come to Castletown, he said, nobody was safe.

"Why," said Rajo to the struggling young oak sapling.

"Why what?" Link mumbled as he crossed another set of strands and petted them smooth.

Rajo winced - thinking out loud _definitely_ wasn't safe. "I dunno. Why _everything_?"

Link laughed. "The world is as the gods made it, that's why."

"Maybe," said Rajo. "Wherever people go, they change things. I read that the river to the east used to be all crooked, and the fields would flood every five years or so. Now it's straight and deep and so fast that when the bridge cracked a hundred years ago, half of it washed away, and that's why the rocks don't match."

"Nothing strange in that," said Link, weaving another crossing. It felt like he was nearly halfway done, but it always felt that way past the nape.

"But then which river is the right one? Slow and crooked or fast and deep? Did the gods make the river right and the King broke it? Or did the gods make it crooked so the King has something useful to do?"

Link sighed. "Where _do_ you get such ideas? What are you really trying to ask?"

"I'm serious. How does anyone know the way the gods want anything to be when people change stuff? Why do they let people change things if they're gonna get mad about it?"

"Because," Link began, his hands clenching in Rajo's hair. It wasn't enough to hurt. But he didn't finish speaking.

"It's ok," said Rajo, setting his tea safely aside. "I was just wondering. It's not important."

Link sighed, shaking his head and unwinding his fingers from Rajo's long hair like he'd forgotten what he was doing with it. "Wonderings like that, Jojo, those need to be a secret. Just us."

"Why? Because you lied to the guards? Because we lied to even _be_ here? _Or_ ," said Rajo, bitterness rising on their tongue before they could stop it. "Is it because I'm witchborn? "

"Not just that," said Link softly.

"I want the truth," said Rajo, turning around on the bench so he could see Link's face. "For my birthday, I mean. Forget the rest - that's just stuff. This is what I really want. Who am I?"

Link pulled his lower lip between his teeth and his eyes shone in the lanternlight. Telltale shimmers on his cheeks said enough, but Rajo was determined to make him answer this time.

"In another life, you would be asking the same question of the Lady of Sands this year," said Link, his voice quiet and rough. "You were born of the Geldo people - Gerudo is how they say it here."

"I know _that_ ," said Rajo with a sigh.

Link looked as though he'd been kicked by a mule. "How long?"

"Forever, basically," lied Rajo. "I'm not stupid."

Link shook his head. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I dunno," said Rajo, suddenly tired. "I guess - I thought you'd tell me or something. Especially after you told us how Da Corfo switched me and Roan when you ran away from the war."

"I'm sorry," said Link, scrubbing a hand across his face.

"I know you were trying to protect me," said Rajo. "But I'm not a baby. I want the truth."

"The truth," Link said to the indifferent stars. "It's still a week to your birthday."

"So," said Rajo. "I want to know _now_. It might be important."

"Yeah," said Link, wiping his hand across his face again. "The truth is - lots of people died, in the war. Good people. And also people who were mostly good, but sometimes did bad things. And people who could have been good except for bad things happening. I fought for Hyrule, and I did my best to do the right things - but that didn't save my friends. I hope Roan won't have to learn the hard way that war is _not_ adventure and honor and glory."

"It's ok. We talk about it," said Rajo. "Wooden soldiers are different than people, but practicing now will make him better at it when he's a grownup."

Link shook his head. "He shouldn't want that. No one should."

Rajo shrugged. "If there aren't any good soldiers, the bad ones will win."

Link shivered, and reclaimed his cup before he spoke again. "I hoped you wouldn't ever have to think about such dark things. Bad enough you were born in the middle of it."

Rajo shrugged. "I don't mind."

Link muttered something he couldn't understand, but he heard the same shapes in the words as the Geldo women spoke.

Link took another drink, and stared at the egg moon for a while.

Rajo waited.

"Rajenaya means 'hope'," he said. "But there is a bad magic. A kind of storm so bad it can destroy everything so nobody can live anywhere and nothing will grow and everything is horrible. That's why I took you away, and that's why we stayed at the farm when you were little. That's why we have to tell small lies and _that_ is why you need good teachers-"

"And that's why you're scared of scruffy thieves finding me? Because the Geldo have bad magic? Do they control the storm? Have you seen it? Is that what happened to my real mother?"

Link just looked at him for a long moment, and the silence stretched out to fill the little garden so even the hens in their bright little house stopped shuffling about and muttering in their sleep.

Rajo waited.

"I won't let it happen again," Link whispered.

"I know," said Rajo, taking Link's hand in both of his.


	38. Fear No More : 10 : T-8

The trouble with winning a fight was that there was always a next one. Every time he had to shut up another snot-nosed milk-faced foul-minded Hylian, three more decided _they_ were going to be the ones to put the queer foreigner in his place.

Rajo shook the sting from his knuckles, and regretted it. Something moved inside his hand and that hurt more than any of the blows today's fools managed to land on him. So he kicked dirt at the last one and snarled at the cowards who'd crowded at the mouth of the alley to watch.

They ran.

Sometimes, it was good to be the tallest one in all his classes. Even if he _was_ hungry all the time. It helped when they were afraid of him, at least a little. Better if he could look more fierce - but he kept getting taller before he could have a chance to build any real muscle. Link still wouldn't let him wear black, either.

Rajo ran his good hand over his hair, and checked to make sure he still had all six earloops in their proper places. A footstep behind him - he pivoted, wrapping magic around his fist even though something crunched painfully when he did it.

"You fight like a demon," said Roan, dropping down from a balcony above with a stupid grin. "You have _got_ to teach me how you do it."

"Pfft. That wasn't anything," he said, brushing off the loose tendrils of magic and straightening his waistcoat. "Those idiots haven't tactics nor grace. You'd do better paying attention to your weaponsmaster than eavesdropping on this nonsense."

"You won though," countered Roan, shoving his hands in his pockets with complete disregard for the strain on the seams. "Anyways Da is always saying war is messy, and all they teach _us_ is perfect forms and tactics in dusty old books. It's kinda fun, but it's also kinda stupid."

"Maybe you're kinda stupid," teased Rajo, trying to brush the dirt from his dark blue trousers with only his good hand. "Look, this stuff is no big deal. In a real fight you're gonna have somebody who knows stuff about fighting when they come at you. These guys - they all think any _real man_ can just pick up any old stick and make the halfblood catamite crawl back into the mud. They don't know anything."

Roan frowned. "What's a catamite?"

"Dunno, don't care," Rajo shrugged. "Hylians have about a thousand words for coward. It's practically all the boys in my classes even think about."

"Yeah," sighed Roan. "C'mere, your collar is stupid. And I think you lost a button."

"Says the rumpled cadet. Are you still losing fights with the pressing iron?" Rajo let Roan help only because he didn't have a mirror to do it himself. He adjusted the angle of his rings - awkward with the state of his hand - and reassured himself the hidden topaz wristlets hadn't come unclasped beneath his shirt.

"I'm getting better at it," grumbled Roan, retying his yellow-gold neckcloth for him. "Anyways you said we were going somewhere so I didn't want my dress blues getting ruined."

"You should always wear your best in the company of a lady," said Rajo, thumping Roan on the ear. "Hurry up - we've a wagon to catch."

Roan swore. "Why does _she_ have to come with us? She's _boring_. And it's not one button but two they lost for you. You'll have to wear it open."

Rajo made a face at the alley, but it didn't make any brass buttons appear. "Don't be stupid. You can't spend all your time with soldiers - a good officer needs _culture_ , little brother."

Roan jabbed him in the ribs for that. "You're peacock enough for three. Anyways she's just a servant - how refined could she even be? And doesn't she have work to do or something?"

Rajo rolled his eyes. "More refined than you, country mouse. Come on - we can't take the good shortcut so we gotta hurry."

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Anna met them at the fence, but she wasn't dressed for adventure. She did look nice in rose and beetroot pinks though. Roan bowed over her hand properly like he hadn't complained the whole way there, and Rajo had to concentrate to vault the fence with only his off hand for support. Which was stupid.

"It is so good to see you both again, and in such health," said Anna, but she was blushing when she said it.

"You see me every day," said Rajo, hiding his hands behind his back. "What happened?"

"Nothing _happened_ ," she said, glancing over her shoulder towards the big house. "You know this is a busy time of year, and with Marta caring for her little ones and Evan laid low by a flux and-"

Roan tsk'd and shook his head. "Terrible thing going around, that. A few of my cohort got shipped home because of it - _nasty_ stuff. You shouldn't overtax yourself and risk catching-"

"Better still to keep your distance," said Rajo, scowling at an oblivious Roan. "Come on - getting out of the city will be good for you."

"I can't," said Anna, lacing her fingers together nervously. "There is so much to be done. _Three days_ to solstice Anjo, and the new veils for the Lady of Light are but half stitched. I'm not a quarter as fast as Marta and with the weather as it is and having to water everything by bucket and ladle this year-"

"I _know_ how many days it is," said Rajo, scowling at the innocent house. "One afternoon isn't enough to make any difference to stuff you have to do all year - and this is perfect weather for what I planned. The rest can wait."

Anna sighed, fussing with the folds of her shawl. "I wish it could - but Father is worried about the drought. What if I _can't_ finish and She doesn't lift it this year?"

"Pfft. Superstition," growled Rajo, turning heel for the big house. "Anyways, it's going to rain next week, so fetch your workbasket and you can bring your stupid lace along. You two head down the south road and I'll catch up."

Roan snickered behind his back as Anna tried to object. He refused to listen to either one of them, pushing his way into the big house. Shining white plaster and dark ash wood stretched enormously in all directions. Fine furniture stood ready to serve their absent owners. Freshly laundered dust cloths waited for them in neat stacks, and hundreds of paintings had been carefully unpacked and hung in their proper places for the coming solstice. Most weren't anything remarkable at all - indifferent landscapes and watery portraits preserved in tasteful frames by generations of doting (or blind) parents.

The family never actually came to Castletown, not in years. Nobody seemed to know why, but the servants made certain the house was never more than a few hours' effort and a trip to the market from being ready for them.

The butler didn't even look up from his work when Rajo found him in the pantry. Or rather, one of the pantries. Rich Hylians built several, keeping dry goods and common dishes and silver all in separate cupboards or even whole rooms if they could.

"You put those hands where I can see them, young man," grumped the butler, turning the fat silver tureen to rub away some imaginary blemish.

"The house looks exceptionally fine this year," said Rajo, choosing a bottle of wine at random from the rack opposite the silver. He smoothed the curled up corner of the label, frowning at the artfully misspelled Old Hylian.

"Save your flattery for the gods," said the old man. He settled the sculpted lid back into place and returned the tureen to the shelf. "Unlike some soft-hearted working folk, I know exactly what to do with thieving truants. You try my patience boy, disrupting my daughter's work with your undisciplined, irreverent pranks."

"Pfft. I was only admiring your masters' good taste," said Rajo, shelving the bottle to the wrong place just to annoy him. He clasped his hands behind his back again, nestling the bad under the good as he paced the length of the small room. "Anyways I finished my classes early today, all the better to enjoy the fine weather we're having."

"Fine, he calls it," sniffed the butler, selecting a ladle from the neat row of tools laid out on green cloth. "Go then, and enjoy your hooligan ways elsewhere."

Rajo grinned. "As you wish-"

"Alone," cut in the butler, returning a brighter ladle to the cloth and selecting the long carving knife next.

"Why?" Rajo asked the bright lime-washed ceiling. "The house is pristine already. Or did your masters finally remember you exist?"

"Watch your tongue," said the old man quietly. "I rule this house in their absence, and I say no faithful servant under its roof goes out walking with any layabout foreign dilettante who can't walk down a street without picking a fight with every dog frequenting it."

"I didn't start it," Rajo gritted his teeth as he spoke so he wouldn't shout.

"Don't care," said the butler, returning the shining carving knife to the cloth and selecting a toothed spoon. "Now, should a promising young cadet happen to call, whose hand is _not_ broken-"

Rajo swallowed the bitterness on his tongue and pretended to be interested in the carvings on the pantry door. "You're in luck then, as my little brother is in the garden. Someone else can make lace today - Anna has a prior engagement."

The old man shook his head. "I know for a _fact_ the academy does not willfully release its students at this hour. So - either you lie more boldly or your corruption is catching."

"Well they do today," Rajo rolled his eyes. "His holiday begins early, because it's my birthday week."

The butler actually turned at that, but only to look down his nose at him. "Aren't you a bit old to believe in birthday fairies?"

"Look, it's just one afternoon," said Rajo, gesturing without thought. Until he tried to open his hands and regretted it.

"And I have just one daughter," countered the old man.

Rajo sighed. "I _can't_ take her riding _next_ week, because it will be raining then."

The butler frowned. "And how do you know that?"

"Contrary to popular belief," said Rajo, tugging his waistcoat straight again. "Witchblood _is_ actually good for something. She'll be back before midnight, I swear it."

The butler grumbled, adjusting the alignment of his tools. "Ten, or I ask the master of horse to have a conversation with your excessively indulgent guardian."

Rajo bowed, trying not to laugh and spoil the joke. "Of course, two it is."


	39. Fear No More : 11

The wind rolled over the fields, picking up the sweet fragrance of young buckwheat and millet. It would never be like home - but the open sky and the soft mumble of drowsy cows and fat hens soothed the raw places Castletown made in him.

Roan wasn't immune to the charm of the ranch either, despite all his boasting. He might be good at all of his Academy lessons, even drills, but his movement changed the moment they climbed out of the delivery wagon. Easier, more open. Roan always laughed, but his voice sounded different out here too.

Anna worried when they snuck into the wagon leaving town, and she worried as it bumped down the road. But by the time they reached the high wooden walls at the heart of the ranch, the sun and the wind and the adventure itself put her in brighter spirits.

And then, of course, he introduced them both to Malon and Ellon and Talon. They all loved Anna immediately, and exclaimed over Roan's fine uniform and dashing looks. No one minded their stowing away at all, exactly as he wished.

Little Malon insisted they needed a tour of the house and the barn and the paddocks at once, claiming Anna's hand so she couldn't argue. She charmed even proud Roan, though she was hardly a season older than Taedra.

If only all of Hyrule could all be like this, maybe it would be tolerable.

 **\- o - O - o -**

Ellon wouldn't let him go with the others - she made up some story about a problem with the counterweight on one of the looms, but Rajo saw her frown when he tucked his hands behind his back. She didn't miss anything, ever.

Better not to spoil Anna's adventure though, so he went along with the diversion and let Ellon examine his hand once they were safely out of the others' sight.

"Anjo, you can't keep picking fights like this," she said, unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt to prod his wrist too.

"I didn't start it," said Rajo, wincing when she poked the edge of the swollen places. "Anyways, I won, so it's fine."

"It is not fine," she said, shooing him into the house. "You know you provoke them when you go flaunting your finery and your long hair and your foreign manners in their face every day. Compromise is a fact of life, Anjo."

Rajo rolled his eyes at her, but held his tongue. They'd had this talk before. It only took longer if he argued, and it didn't change anything.

Ellon made him sit at the kitchen table while she unlocked the medicine pantry and assembled her tools. She once trained as a healer under a Zora master, far to the east. She could have started her own shop in any village in Hyrule, but she didn't want to give up her weaving. So she married Talon instead, and used her skills to make the ranch not merely prosperous, but renowned.

He had every intention of persuading her to sell him a case of Romani Milk today, too. So he let her coat his hand in white chu jelly, and scold him for wearing ribbons braided in his hair, and feed him a dreadful cup of syrupy potion that made his mouth feel stuffed with wool.

"I'll be more careful," Rajo promised her when she ran out of worries to list.

"Don't look so dour," she said, smoothing his hair gently. "You're such a bright young man - I hate to see you waste your potential like this. One of these days, the guard is going to catch you, and it won't matter to them who did what first. You know that, in your heart of hearts."

"Yeah," said Rajo, flexing his fingers experimentally. Still stiff and unpleasant, but better. "It's not fair though."

Ellon sighed, and offered him a waxed paper packet of honeyglass to counter the sour taste of the potion. "Life rarely is."

Rajo unwrapped the sweets carefully, smoothing out the creases in the paper. "Then why doesn't the royal family ever fix it?"

"King Novanus and the crown princess are still human," said Ellon, sitting down beside him. "Not even the spirits are perfect, Anjo. It's our job to do the best we can with what we're given."

"Why is it our job to make do when they're the ones that make stupid rules in the first place? Why do the gods let people even _make_ rules that aren't right?"

Ellon laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and pulled him close. "I would set the world right tomorrow if I could. But it will get better. When you're older-"

"How does being older change anything? How is it supposed to get any better if we never _do_ anything? Say, if the King made a bad rule," said Rajo, laying one of the sweets on his tongue. "Who tells him it's wrong? The gods? Why don't they tell him _before_ he makes it a law? Do they tell the next King? Or are we supposed to wait for the next King to be smarter? Why?"

"I know this is really hard for you to understand right now," Ellon sighed. "Remember last spring, when Malon tried to help the chicks hatch?"

"That's different. She didn't know better yet, and anyways cuccos are stupid," said Rajo, eating another sweet.

"It's not as different as you think. We've reminded her every time another brood is getting close, but it's so hard for her to watch them struggle. So last year we let her help," said Ellon, rubbing his back in slow circles.

"Yeah, well. That was stupid. They all died and I had to help bury them in the garden," said Rajo. He'd missed three days of lessons that week, helping keep Malon from doing anything else stupid while the grown ups were busy with too many foals and calves at the same time.

"Exactly," said Ellon. "But she needed to see the consequence of her actions to understand why we have to let baby cuccos hatch on their own, even when it's hard. In the same way, the good gods are wiser than us, and let us make mistakes, so we can learn."

Rajo frowned, turning the last piece of honeyglass over and over in his fingers. "It wasn't good or fair to let her kill the baby cuccoos. _They_ didn't need the lesson. They didn't do anything to deserve to die."

"No one ever _deserves_ to die," said Ellon gently. "Death is just - part of how the gods made the world. Even if Farore never made any people or creatures who had to kill and eat to live, death would still be a part of Nayru's Order. The sun sets so the moon can rise. Plants die so their seeds can grow into new plants. Even the stars aren't forever, Anjo."

"That's different," said Rajo. "It makes sense that things die when they're old or sick, and for living things become food for other living things - but the gods let people hurt and kill for even dumber reasons - or no reason at all."

Ellon nodded. "The price of freedom is that some people will choose to do evil. That's why the gods gave us sages to maintain balance among the spirits, and kings to maintain order among people."

"Who punishes the kings and sages if they're the ones doing bad things? The priests say the golden gods are the source of all goodness and rightness," said Rajo, trying to break the honey glass in half. It shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces instead. "But who makes the royal family listen to the gods' wishes? How do we know they're not lying about what the gods told them, or if they said anything at all?"

Ellon sighed. "We only have power over our own choices, Anjo. We make do with all the rest, and we try to live in the light as best we can."

Rajo rearranged the fragments of honeyglass on the table, trying to quiet the roaring inside his chest. "There won't be any light left for anyone if no one ever does anything about stupid rules."

Ellon sighed, and pulled him into her arms. He let her only because no one else was around to see. She sighed at him again, and petted his hair. "You have such passion for things that life is never going to be easy for you. Just - please think about which battles you can afford to fight, _before_ you fight them. What good will you be able to do for anyone if you let ignorant bullies goad you into doing something you can't walk away from?"

- _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Rajo caught up to the others just as Talon and Roan helped Anna mount the sleepy dappled gray gelding. Malon was already in the saddle on her fat old pony, trotting in restless circuits around them, shouting encouragement. Anna flashed him a nervous smile, tugging at the hem of her skirts to no effect whatever. They weren't made for riding, so even carefully tucked and spread under her, the ruffles just barely brushed past her knees.

"Don't be scared - Pepper is a good horse. He'll teach you everything," said Rajo, inspecting the tack as Talon shortened Anna's stirrups again. "I didn't know your stockings had roses - did you knit them in or stitch them on top?"

Anna blushed, and Roan punched his arm. "A _gentleman_ doesn't comment on a lady's underwear, brother."

"Stockings aren't underwear," he said, satisfied all the straps lay properly snug. "Anyways why bother making them fancy if she didn't want people to notice?"

Anna blushed and stuck her tongue out at him. "You're one to talk, wearing half your jewelry hidden all the time."

Rajo stuck his tongue out at her and rolled up his sleeves so the topaz studding his silver wristlets glittered in the bright afternoon sunlight. It felt better anyway, soaking in the summer sunlight.

Talon laughed at them all, and showed Anna how to get Pepper's attention and walk him in circles behind Malon to learn the feeling of how to guide him. Roan mounted his buckskin mare with easy grace just as Ingo brought out the big black for him.

Roan proposed a race at once - Malon didn't even wait for him to mount before she declared the orchard as their goal and cried "Ready-Set-Go!" She kicked her pony into a ridiculous scurrying run, and Pepper followed them at a fast walk, keeping an ear trained on his novice rider.

Roan managed to persuade Boots into a parade-ground piaffe about halfway to the gate. Anna laughed at them and tried to copy Roan's position to Pepper's great amusement. He sidled towards Boots and showed off his own long-practiced form, goading her to pull ahead of Malon and her pony to try and outdo him.

Soot complained as Rajo took his time getting settled - she wanted to run with the others. He held her back all the way through the gate, though she tossed her head and sidled and generally acted a brat. He gave her leave to pace a bit, pulling her up again next to Anna.

"Well," he said, glancing at her sidelong. "Do you want to win?"

"Oh - I don't know how I should manage any faster than this," she said, brushing stray hair out of her eyes. "I don't know what I'm even doing _now_."

"Leave the details to Pepper," he said, patting Soot's neck indulgently. "Adjust your position exactly as I tell you, and don't lock up. You'll only have trouble if you let yourself be frightened. I'll be right beside you, so if you forget, you can just look at how I'm riding, ok?"

Anna bit her lip, but she nodded, and listened carefully. Pepper eyed him and snorted - he'd trained hundreds of novice riders, and clearly disapproved of this method. Nonetheless, he obeyed, stretching his legs to match Soot's loping stride. Anna leaned into the wind, laughing.

This was how life should always be.

Rajo whistled to Roan, pulling up just as they reached the shadow of the first apple tree. Boots peeled away from the main path neatly, looping back under Roan's confident hand to ride at his left, behind Anna. Pepper slowed his step, anticipating the next command, but didn't actually drop to a pace until Rajo managed to remind Anna how to ask him to.

Malon caught up to them as they passed the tall gateposts marking the old boundary of the orchard, not at all sore to have lost the race. She cheered for Anna's victory, weaving her pony through the trees to reclaim her place at the lead.

Anna slowed Pepper to a walk all on her own, praising the old gelding far in excess of his efforts. She turned him about, red-cheeked and breathless. "Did I do alright? I couldn't even think, he ran so fast!"

Roan shot him a Look.

"Told you Pepper is a good horse," said Rajo, ignoring him. "A little more practice and you'll be ready to take Soot over the hunt course."

Roan made a rude noise. "You want fast, you should see _us_ tear up the field. Soot may be the better jumper, but Boots can outrun the wind."

"Jumping sounds dangerous," said Anna, stroking Pepper's neck as he edged off the path to sniff around for fallen apples.

"Oh, it is," said Roan, clicking at Boots and standing to survey the orchard.

Rajo didn't bother following his line of sight - he'd _built_ half the obstacles in the orchard. He caught Pepper's spare lead just in time to keep him from rearing when Roan whooped and kicked Boots directly into a reckless gallop.

Anna gasped and Malon cheered as Roan raced through the trees, his form drillfield perfect as Boots sailed over hummocks and roots and forgotten crates.

"Don't worry," said Rajo, trying to soothe two annoyed horses at once. "He knows what he's doing. Watch - see how he helps her balance?"

"You do _that_ when you skip lessons to come out here?" Anna half-whispered, covering her mouth with one hand.

Rajo shrugged. "Sometimes. It's easier to think out here. Anyways riding is good exercise."

Anna shook her head as Roan vanished over the crest of the hill. "Maybe for the horse. I hope you didn't spend a lot of money to borrow Pepper for me-"

Rajo made a rude noise and kneed Soot forward, releasing Pepper's lead. "Talon may be country people, and lazy, but he's not _vulgar_. And riding _is_ work - talking with your horse, moving with them. Walking isn't hard to sit, but anything else makes you sore after a while. Especially trotting. But today won't be that long. We have to head back with the evening deliveries anyway."

"Oh," said Anna, as if she'd almost forgotten about Castletown too. "Do you think - I mean. If you wouldn't mind too much - I don't want to be a bother or anything-"

Rajo stared at her. Anna never stuttered like this. Maybe she needed to rest. "Don't worry so much. There's a quiet pond ahead, where Roan went. You'll like it - we can let the horses drink before we finish the loop around the ranch."

"You don't have to stop because of me," she said with a sigh. "I just - it's nice here. I don't want you to fall behind in your lessons but - I'm glad you showed me this wonderful place."

"Pfft. I'd have stolen you sooner but your Da's kinda stupid," said Rajo.


	40. Fear No More : 12

Cicadas sang them along as afternoon gave way to twilight. They stood on the western ridge to watch the sunset, eating tart young apples and talking about nothing. Malon started yawning, so Rajo tied her pony's lead to Pepper's saddle and persuaded her to ride with him for the way back, mostly by promising to bring her a whole bag of sugarblooms on his next visit.

All three of them had to help Anna into the saddle again, to her great embarrassment. So Rajo used a little magic to loosen the cinch when Roan went to mount, dumping him flat on his back in the grass. Roan swore fearsomely, but it amused everyone else, including Boots.

Roan laughed at him in turn when Malon fell asleep in his arms not even a quarter hour down the road, but Rajo didn't mind. It was good to be under the open sky in the hours of melancholy.

"So is Vah Farticus still crazy?" Roan asked when their idle conversations ebbed.

Anna tsk'd at him for being rude.

"Some days are ok," said Rajo with a shrug. "Brother Mikaem helps him remember things. He wrote yesterday's hymn backwards though, which _would_ be a pretty funny spell to cast if I knew how."

"He wrote the words in the wrong order or the letters?" Roan asked, baffled.

"Both," said Rajo with a grin. "Nobody said _anything_ , even though we could all see it was wrong, until Kamenus asked Lor and Halen to recite it as an antiphon."

Roan snickered.

Anna spoke softly. "You did _tell_ them it wasn't your fault this time?"

"Why bother?" Rajo shrugged, careful not to unbalance Malon. "Even when Mikaem knows better, he's not going to upset Kamenus."

"The truth is important," said Anna. "Anyways, what good does it do you or anyone if your whole class goes on thinking you can reach inside people's heads like that?"

"Well, maybe they'll think twice before throwing pebbles at Gerudo thieves for fun," said Rajo, setting his jaw and wishing the weird old journal held that sort of spell in it. _Useful_ magic.

Roan made a rude noise. "Sure, if they were smart. Did Mikaem ever find that cup you were supposed to have stolen?"

"It was a _chalice_ , little brother, and yes. Locked in the glass cabinet right where Kamenus always puts it. But it doesn't count because now it only has six gems."

Anna frowned. "But offering chalices _always_ have six gems. Unless you mean a different one for foreign spirits?"

"No, it's the same one I told you about," said Rajo. "I don't mind though because everyone already knows _that's_ crazy. Even Mikaem was half convinced I'd replaced the diadem stones with glass until Halen suggested they ask a jeweler."

"Did he apologize?" Anna bit her lip as she asked, worried for no reason.

Rajo nudged Soot to pick up her pace just a little as Malon's pony tried to pull them towards the hedges along the road. "It doesn't matter. I'd rather spend class in the library half the time anyway so it's not like it's much of a punishment when he thinks I've switched his stuff around again."

Roan hummed and hrrrmed as they ambled along the old road. "That _would_ be a really good spell. None of your uncle's books have anything like it?"

Rajo shook his head. "Voh doesn't keep hardly anything that's not carpentry plans and computation tables and farmer stuff. He bought one last week that's got nothing in it but how to grow trees - as if anything is going to make that stupid oak behind the house less pathetic."

"No, I mean your _other_ uncle. Da's brother," said Roan with drawn out syllables and a meaningful stare. "His _notebooks_ and stuff?"

Rajo frowned. Link never mentioned a brother, so he must have died in the war too. Maybe he had witchblood on both sides after all. "If you mean that old journal, no. It's got a lot of stuff about stars and like, firestarting and weather watching. But it's a scrambled mess, not a proper book at all. Also the scribe was lazy with blotting powder and trimmed their quill too fat."

Roan rolled his eyes and leaned back to catch Anna's eye. "Is he always this stupid?"

"If by stupid you mean stubborn," she said with a sly grin.

Rajo frowned harder, wrapping his arm tighter around Malon as she started to slump sideways in her sleep. "So there's more than one."

"Uh, yeah. Like, dozens. Ensren found most of them years ago," Roan began, trailing off as Anna squeaked and flailed ineffectually, trying to keep Pepper from spooking at nothing.

Rajo ground his teeth and cast a little coil of shadow around Pepper's eyes to calm him down. He stopped in the middle of the road, knees locked in terror. Next time he would insist Anna wear trousers and practice the basic commands for at least an hour before riding out.

"Sorry," said Anna, shamefaced. "I remember what you said about no worrying, but I forgot for a moment when you - when your eyes did that _thing_. I didn't mean to."

"It's fine," lied Rajo as he pulled around her other side so she could ride between them when Pepper was calm enough to unravel the shadow again. He pushed down the bitterness, locking it away with all the rest. It wasn't their fault. It didn't have anything to do with them. They couldn't possibly understand. Rajo waited until Pepper stopped trembling, and summoned three little balls of light, lofting them into the air over the road so the horses could see a little better on the last stretch.

"I'm sorry too," said Roan with a sigh as they got underway again. "I probably messed up your surprise. I didn't think about it - Ensren said in his last letter he was working on a translation after the twins were in bed and he found a loose map stuck in the middle. It's marked to go with a journal, but not any Voh left at the farm, so he asked me to look, is all."

"It's fine," said Rajo again, telling himself firmly to believe it. Maybe Link didn't think it was important. Or maybe he couldn't bear to see the books, or maybe he still thought Rajo was too little for important things. Anyways, everyone had secrets.

"Hey," said Roan quietly after a good furlong of silence. "Are we - you know - telling Da about this?"

Rajo glanced at Anna - she pretended not to be listening, but he knew better. Not that it mattered. He'd laid these plans weeks ago, knowing her father would probably snitch anyway. "Sure. Except the milk - _that_ needs to stay secret until Woolsday."

"What milk? Why?" Roan frowned at him.

"Don't be stupid. For your Da," said Rajo. "I talked Ellon into selling some - but you gotta help me hide it when we get back."

Anna gasped, pulling Pepper to a halt. "No - you bought _Romani_ milk? You could get arrested-! _Ellon_ could get arrested!"

"Only if somebody snitches, which you better not," said Rajo, keeping Soot firmly on the path. "Anyways, it's a stupid law, and it's not like _I_ was ever going to drink it anyway. Gross."

Roan swore, kneeing Boots ahead to block the road. "And _how_ are we going to get it across town without the watch noticing?"

"Easy. We use the roof," said Rajo, letting Soot stop. "Ellon helped with my hand so we can use the good shortcut."

"If anyone finds out I helped you smuggle booze, I'll be _expelled_ ," said Roan, wild-eyed. "Do you understand? Whipped and expelled! In disgrace!"

"Shh- you'll wake Malon," said Rajo.

"Disgrace-!" whispered Roan.

"Why couldn't she just sell it to Voh in town? On Woolday I mean, with the regular delivery," said Anna quietly, bringing Pepper closer alongside of him.

Rajo snorted. "The King gets first refusal on every batch - that's why nobody ever has much to sell. Might work for weaseling away _one_ bottle. Wouldn't last an hour. Birthdays have to be _special_."

"Oh," said Anna, staring across the quiet fields. "I've never seen it. Is it - does it still _look_ like milk?"

"Who cares? No one is going to believe the walking library couldn't read the label _or_ miscounted two hundred rupees worth for _normal_ milk," said Roan.

"But does it?" Anna insisted.

"Maybe," said Rajo, trying to remember what the bottles looked like. "I think the glass is white, anyway."

"So change the labels," she said with a shrug, not meeting his eye. "People see what they expect to see."

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Ellon wouldn't let them climb into the delivery wagon until they all had a proper meal, which meant they were all so stuffed on sausage pie and cheese curds it was hard to stay awake on the trip back into town. Rajo persuaded Anna to let herself nap, though she only surrendered when he made her admit she couldn't see the lace well enough to be sure of the pattern. She could see fireflies next time.

The guard at the wicket gate didn't even pretend to inspect the wagon. They waited for the right moment, slipping into the shadows of the east market without waking the guard there either. Rajo and Roan carried the precious milk and Anna's little workbasket between them. She bit her nails every time someone walked down a cross-street, but no one noticed them, even when the gate squeaked.

Rajo offered a lazy salute to the windows with the lanterns in them, and Roan bowed over Anna's hand with such perfect gallantry she turned pink as her dress and fled as soon as he let go, forgetting her workbasket. Roan snickered, and Rajo set the basket safely inside the fence, under the flowering memoryleaf.

In the end they took the long way home, as the crate proved far too unwieldy for iron ladders and too heavy for leaping eaves. Only two grownups tried to stop them, neither one part of the watch. Both believed Roan's wild explanations easily, though neither resembled truth or reason in the slightest.

Rajo kept his face averted, and mumbled look-away spells from the moment they stepped down from the wagon. He couldn't hold the bubble over all three of them very long, but thinned down to a tiny sphere stretching from fingertips to crown, he just barely held the magic over himself to the edge of their own mean little street.

The upstairs window was dark, but soft yellow light threw the weave of the front curtains against the sad little fence screening the door. Rajo stood on his toes to peer around the edges between the curtains. The front room looked empty, but Roan offered to go first and create a distraction, just in case.

Rajo wasn't at all sure he could get the crate upstairs alone without noise or disaster. Holding the magic that long had proven much harder than he expected - but he had to get the Romani Milk hidden somehow before his strength gave out.

Roan pushed through the door with a sing-song 'hullo~', signaling that the front room was in fact empty. He slammed the door against the frame to make it sound closed, careful not to let the latch set, and stomped about. He made the first stair squeal as he called for Link, and banged the pantry door when he looked in there. Roan was sometimes quite stupid. No answering call came. The stubborn squeak of the kitchen doors carried, and the Roan's helpless laughter.

He didn't signal Rajo to enter, but he was giggling so maybe he couldn't. Rajo listened so hard he thought his ears might pop, and faintly, under Roan's helpless laughter, Link's deeper voice. What could be so funny in the kitchen?

Rajo decided to see if the firewood cabinet under the lowest stairs would fit the crate - usually Link moved the cords outside in spring so the spiders wouldn't get too bad. The whole house smelled funny - but he couldn't quite place why. That door did _not_ squeak - but the hinges made it so the crate wouldn't fit without tipping it, so Rajo sucked a tight breath and cast a little tiny gust of wind to clear the spiderwebs. He unloaded the precious bottles, one after the other, just barely getting the last one wedged in place as Roan started hiccuping from too much laughing. The empty crate he shoved under one padded bench, where the shadows and old blankets would hide it for a little while. Roan must have heard it scrape the floor - he leaned heavily on one kitchen door, wiping tears from his eyes.

Rojo opened the other onto a different sort of disaster entirely. Link stood in the middle of it, reddened hands propped on narrow hips, shaking his head. A precarious stack of flat slices of burned somethings stood on the tiny worktable next to a scorched pot with bubbly gunk leaking out from under the lid. The dry sink overflowed with dishes and bottles. Worse than that, though, was the astringent vinegary smell, and the shards of green glass and limp vegetables exploding out of the cabinet next to the stove.

And crowning the whole of it, on top of the now-cold stove, a lopsided, oozing lump of half-burned, sugar-dusted dough.

"Was that supposed to be-" Rajo whispered to Roan.

"Cake-!" Roan gasped, dissolving into giggles again.


	41. Fear No More : 13

In the end, they let the chickens clean up the exploded pickles and burned flatbread. The cake, Rajo cut to pieces and dumped into the last clean pot with sweet cream and honey and strawberries. They ate it for breakfast with spoons, and lazed away the morning in the garden while the spiced meat simmered on the stove.

Roan fell asleep in the middle of a third game of skip-stone, so Link made another pot of brambleflower and goldenleaf tea, mixing a glass for Rajo with milk and honey to cut the bitterness of the green potion he brought out with it.

"Is it that obvious?" Rajo grumped, trying to touch the stuff to his tongue as little as possible.

Link sat beside him on the padded bench, half-lotus fashion, and folded his hands over one knee. His gray trousers needed mending again, but he never seemed to notice that about his own clothing. "Not very. What did you need so much magic for yesterday?"

"A project," said Rajo with a shrug. It was mostly true. "Also I taught Anna how to ride, and I had to make sure everything would be perfect."

Link smiled, but his eyes were sad. "It is a good thing to have friends. Things are better this year?"

Rajo shrugged. "Some of the other boys are going into apprenticeships this year, and one of the girls. Master Budro caught me drawing in class again though, so I have to design some stupid moving bridge in miniature that _works_ for the harvest exposition or he's going to fail me for the term. Again."

"You'll come up with something," said Link, looking away, towards the woven rose screens with their tiny, fragile white blooms. "Do you want me to find you an apprenticeship, Rajo? The architect-"

"Who would hire a thief to build anything?" Rajo drained his glass of tea and licked honey from the rim. It wasn't the normal stuff, or the clover or apple blossom honey. This was the special, rare, subtle sweetness which tasted sublime in the way the dirt in Ma Idrea's garden smelled after a gentle rain. Rajo wasn't sure where Link even bought it.

"A master locksmith must know how to pick locks," said Link with a shrug. "I could make inquiries in other cities - Termina, or Exolla, or Labrynna City, or Castor-"

"Why bother? I'm already over halfway through my studies here, so I'd only lose time going anywhere else and having to convince people all over again that I learned anything ever. Anyways Roan is here now, and Hyrule has the best military academy of anyone," said Rajo, pouring himself more tea.

Link sighed and pushed a hand through his fair hair. Rajo never saw him cut it, but it never got any longer either. "And after you graduate? After you are confirmed at the temple of Light?"

Rajo shrugged, tipping milk slowly into his tea and watching it make swirling stormclouds. "Where will you go, when the new walls and towers are finished?"

"That depends," said Link, folding his hands around his knee again.

"On?" Rajo insisted, scooping barkspice and more of the rare honey into his cup.

"You," said Link quietly.

Rajo made a rude noise and tasted his concoction. Perfectly sharp and sweet and savory and smooth all at once. "That's stupid. What are we even waiting for then? Don't you want to go home?"

"Yes," said Link after a long silence.

"So let's go," said Rajo with a shrug. "Roan is actually good at school. He doesn't need our help to be a fancy officer. Anyways he already has to live there whenever it's not a holiday, and nobody on the road to the farm is going to be stupid enough to give a blonde cadet trouble when he's in uniform, which is basically always."

Link just shook his head no and sucked his lip between his teeth.

Rajo sighed. "Why do we have to stay until I get some stupid piece of paper to tell people what I can do? You just said I could stop going if I become an apprentice like the others, so-"

"Do you _want_ to learn a trade?" Link asked, studying him sidelong. "Any trade. It doesn't have to be what I do."

"Not really," admitted Rajo.

Link shrugged. "Then you stay in school."

"What if I never want to learn any stupid trade? What if," said Rajo, stirring his tea to watch the tempest form upside down. "What if I don't even graduate? Will you make me study maps and dusty old kings and stupid buildings and the best ways to build farms and write contracts until I'm old and decrepit like Vah Kamenus?"

"Is that what you want to do?" Link tilted his head a little to the side. He actually sounded serious.

"Of course not," said Rajo, licking his spoon clean while his tea settled again. "But - what if I did?"

"You used to hate Castletown. You'd ask me every Lightsday, how much longer until we could leave," said Link after a long silence. "What changed?"

"Nothing changed," said Rajo, rolling his eyes. "All of Hyrule is impossibly stupid and I hate this rotten city most of all. I just want to know."

Link frowned at him, chewing his lip. "Then I guess I would find other work after the walls are done and you would stay in school for as long as it takes."

"As long as it takes for _what_?" asked Rajo, setting the spoon back on the silver tray. "How am I supposed to become whatever it is you brought me here for if you never tell me what it is?"

Link sighed, glancing at Roan, still fast asleep on a pile of cushions beside the gaming board. "It's complicated."

"I'm not a baby," Rajo groaned in frustration. "Why should it even matter to you what I do when I'm grownup? I don't spark by accident anymore, but that's not enough. Nothing is _ever_ enough-"

"Rajo-" Link began, but Rajo couldn't bear to hear that crack in his voice a moment longer.

A stray cloud shaded the little house as Rajo fled inside. He felt sick to his stomach and heavy as stone. The creak of floorboards and stairs under his feet seemed like the snap and growl of hungry wolfos, and the roaring inside his own chest threatened to tear his throat out. He wanted to pull the magic into his horrible selfish heart until it burned away the pain. He wanted silence, but he didn't want to think. He wanted none of this to have ever happened - and he felt cold with the heaviness of trying so hard not to _wish_.

"Din's merciful fires," swore Link in the beautiful, strange language of the Gerudo women. "Rajo-!"

Rajo slammed his door shut and tried to throw the bolt. The moment he laid his hand upon the steel though, his vision flared red and the room spun. So he leaned against the door reciting the first chant he could wrap his tongue around. It almost never actually banished the red and black shards at the edges of everything, or the incomprehensible whispering wickedness buzzing in his ears. If he could focus, if he wasn't tired, sometimes he could keep it from getting worse. But mostly he had to wait for the storm to pass.

When he was little, the storms and the whispering voices mostly came in his dreams. After the fire, they got worse, until it was hard to even sleep at all unless he was so tired he couldn't help it. Every year after, they grew stronger. Now they came for him in the daytime, and not one of the books in Van Kamenus' library told him how to make them stop. The light priests _liked_ dreams of prophecy. They did all sorts of spells and made offerings to hundreds of little spirits to bring dreams on purpose.

Rajo hated dreaming.

"Open the door Rajenaya - merciful mother of sands _not now_ \- please - not again," said Link through the door, foreign words rolling off his tongue as easily as the Hylian. "Talk to me - don't lock me out this time -"

Rajo pressed all his strength against the door from the inside as Link drummed his fist on the wood. He fumbled through another recitation, trying also to listen to Gerudo curses leveled at him and the gods and everyone at the same time. He didn't understand all of them - Hylians didn't teach the Gerudo tongues the way they taught Zora or Goron, or even Labrynnan or Holodrun. But Vah Kamenus had books on almost everything, and sometimes Rajo managed to persuade Mikaem to borrow others from the Royal Archive.

Rajo fumbled another line when Link sobbed, lumping his weight against the door from the outside so the latch shuddered with the strain. Hylian men didn't cry. _Link_ didn't cry. Not really. Certainly not so anyone might notice, and he never even admitted to his eyes leaking, ever.

Rajo sighed, closing his eyes and pushing back against the storm as hard as he could. He tried to remember the serene faces of the statues in the great temple complex, and the soft, soothing colors of the processional frescoes and the jewel-box glass in the shrines of the venerable saints. The storms never seemed to come into the holy precinct after him, so perhaps he could trick them by imagining himself there, at the heart of the strength of Light.

Everyone said the Temple of Time at the highest point inside the walls of the vast holy precinct was surely the most beautiful of all. They said it stood over the place where the golden gods themselves laid their blessing upon the world. Rajo imagined its stark white stone surrounding him, the soaring windows of etched and mirrored glass amplifying the sunlight to blinding radiance.

He shivered, feeling the same eerie chill from looking at the empty stone altar and vast ornamented gates to the inner sanctum in his head as he always felt in person. The whispering voices laughed at him. Rajo opened his eyes to the familiar warmth of his own room bathed in comfortable golden light. Half of every book about understanding omens and dreams was about how to find them. No book ever mentioned how to keep the dreams from finding _him_.

"I don't know how to make it stop," said Rajo, hating how small his own voice sounded against the noise in his head.

"Let me help," said Link through the door, tears blurring his words. "Please."

Rajo ground the heel of his palm against his aching eyes and stepped away from the door. "It's not locked."

Link pushed through at once and swept Rajo into his arms as if he weren't within a couple hands of Link's height, as if he weighed no more than Malon or Taedra. He wept into Rajo's hair, babbling nonsense in two languages, and he clutched Rajo so tight to his chest it was hard to breathe.

The voices hissed as they always did before the storm broke, and in the far distance, thunder trembled. Summer often brought rain here, but rarely so close to solstice. Now he began to wonder if his own curse reached into the skies to summon tempests in earnest - and if the weather magics could be used to predict the storms inside his head too.

"It's ok," said Rajo as the black and red spots faded, leaving the usual headache behind. "I can _stand_ fine - you - you can put me down now-"

"Sorry," said Link with a sniffle, setting him back on his own feet slowly. He smoothed down flyaway curls and straightened his waistcoat for him. "I just - I was afraid - I don't want to - I mean, it's not _really_ fine, is it?"

Rajo couldn't meet his eye. "No."

Link wrapped his callused hands around Rajo's shoulders. "I can't help if I don't know what's wrong. Why are you so upset? Talk to me, Jojo."

"Why should I? _You_ never tell me anything," Rajo groaned.

Link shook his head, baffled. "I can't answer questions you don't ask."

Rajo ground his teeth, staring a hole in the gouged floorboards. What could he say? How could he wrap words around the chaos in his heart? "Five years ago, you gave me an old notebook. You said it would help."

Link drew a deep breath and scrubbed his hand over his face. "I hoped."

"Why?" asked Rajo, searching Link's face for truth. "Where did it come from? How did you know it was about the kind of magic I can do? How did you get it?"

Link sniffled, releasing Rajo and swallowing hard to try and stop the tears. "I - had a brother once. Sortof. A long, long time ago. When he - after he died, I collected his things and put them in a safe place. I didn't know what most of it was, I just - I thought it might be important, the things he read, and wrote. When you started to have trouble with the lightning, I remembered - he used to love sun gems. I thought maybe when he was little, he might have had trouble too, and I didn't understand back then. Maybe he wrote about it. So I looked through his books, until I found that one."

"And you bought all that topaz," said Rajo, reflexively touching the cabochon on the largest triangular ear-dangle. Of all the gems he wore to control the lightning, that's the one Link reached for sometimes, like it reminded him of something he didn't really want to remember, but couldn't stop either.

"Yeah," said Link, his blue eyes shining with more tears. "I've been looking for others, but - it's hard. The things he wrote - some of the things - I just don't - I don't want to make anything worse. I want to help. But I don't understand a lot of the things in his books. And it's hard, remembering. Reading some of the things he - well. I'm not as brave as everyone thinks I am. I asked Ensren to help."

Rajo felt sick again. Of _course_ he didn't tell Rajo there were more, because it hurt him to read through to find the ones that mattered. Whatever he did, it was always wrong and horrid. How could he be so awful, getting angry that Link didn't show him all the books that made him sad? He should have held his stupid tongue - but it ran ahead of him, pouring out another question before he could stop himself. "Did the bad magic kill him too?"

Link nodded, opening and closing his mouth three times before he could make any words came out. "He took the bad magic into his heart, and held it there so we could - so it wouldn't get any stronger before we could - so it could be sealed again. But it wasn't enough. And he - and lots of people died."

"They called you the hero," said Rajo, almost certain he knew the truth hidden in Link's silence this time. The gods gave him such a cruel task, killing someone he loved to break the power of the magic inside him and save his country, only to rip away all meaning in their sacrifice when they let the evil escape again. Of course he wouldn't ever let himself love anyone else after that, lest the gods destroy them too. How could he be so _selfish_?

"They lied," Link shook his head, looking at his empty, callused hands. "A hero saves everyone."

Rajo turned, looking at his room through the haze of pain. The faded weavings. The fragrant wooden screens. The smooth, elegant pottery. The shelves of old and rare books on philosophy and spirits and plants and stars and machines and important buildings. Worn old rugs with Gerudo patterns. A priceless telescope, and the set of jewelers' loupes. "These things, that didn't come from the farm, the things you gave me when we came here. You said I didn't have to like them. We could sell them, you said, and get different things. Like it didn't matter at all. But it did. It does. Because these - were all his."

"Sorry," whispered Link. "Not very good at gifts."

"Better than me," said Rajo with a sigh. He didn't know how to make Link understand that was the opposite of what he meant. "I hid your present under the stairs. I only bought it because it's expensive, and I didn't have any better ideas."

Link sniffled. "It's early but - the things I sent for are here. So. Come."

Rajo followed him across the little landing to Link's stark room. Even after six years he kept nothing for himself but a plain clothespress, a simple writing table by the window, a hard bench for pulling his boots on, his bed, one lantern, and his banded blue chest. He didn't even hang his plain sword here like he did when he lived in the barnloft at the farm.

Link opened the blue chest and drew from it a heavy bundle which was almost certainly books. The bed creaked when he laid its weight on the blankets and returned for an enormous shapeless parcel and a much smaller jewel casket. Rajo sat on the edge of the bed to unwrap the books, unsurprised to find almost all of them handwritten, with nonsense strings of letters and numbers on the spines instead of proper titles. In the middle of the pile he found a letter in Ensren's backslant hand detailing a suggested order of study, and notes on the three printed ones.

Rajo opened the two small ones with the plain covers first - both in Old High Hylian, the type set distractingly off true. But - the notes in the margins through the first few chapters very nearly matched the handwriting in the first journal. "These have the crest of the royal house inside."

Link sat down next to him to see, his face drawn and pale. More pale than usual. "I thought these were old - but that's - Zelda wrote this -"

Rajo made a rude noise. "They _are_ old. Look at the paper - the stitches. The way the ink splotched and cracked here at the edge of the letters. They were still using wood to carve printing blocks _sometimes_ a few hundred years ago, but not with gummy ink like this."

"Oh," said Link, folding his hands in his lap.

"Yeah. So a crown princess from a _long_ time ago, not Crown Princess Zelda, just _a_ Zelda, wrote this," he said, flipping pages. "Or at least she paid someone to write it, and this sorry cover is just because the original one fell apart. So it might be missing pages."

"Sorry," said Link.

"No - it's fine," said Rajo, setting both aside. "Old books are like that, it doesn't make them bad. Just - hard. In a good way. I like hard books - they usually have better stuff inside."

"Oh," said Link, hanging his head. "I don't - I've never read very much. Just a few things. Things I had to read. I didn't learn until - until I was older. That big one - that was given to me, a long time ago. But I - I'm just a stupid soldier. I tried, but never could read much of it. It has pictures though."

"Stupid people can't build complicated things," Rajo frowned, peeking inside to see what kind of picturebook gave Link so much trouble. His heart stopped when the light reflected on real gold leaf and expensive cochineal lacquer and shiny night-black ink unlike any he'd seen before. Pictures! These were halfway to being religious icons. "This - I can't quite read it either. But I know that symbol. And this is the Gerudo script, but it's so loopy and it's like they skipped letters - but not because the scribe was lazy. This book was printed - a whole page carved on one block. Why would they do that?"

"It's called the Book of the Sands," said Link quietly. "I thought you might - maybe you will like it. Or at least know what it's for. Or maybe it will help you. I don't know. I am not good at-"

"It's fine," Rajo closed the book again and reached for the large parcel. "I told you. I _like_ hard books. If reading books was a trade, I could do that. But I don't think I can be a priest, and I don't want to work for the stupid old King either."

Link laughed at that, short and sharp. "You could run a book shop, as long as you never had to actually _sell_ any of your treasures."

Rajo made a rude noise, snapping the thin string holding the cloth around the odd shape inside. The parcel made a twangy sound in his hands - he tore the rest of the cloth away in a fever. The polished amberwood cittern looked more like a confection than an instrument, but touching the delicate wire strings sounded like fairy bells and the stream in the far pasture by the wool-washing shed and everything that a hymn of the holy Light wasn't.

"Well," said Link.

"I - don't know how to play it," whispered Rajo, caressing the elegant curves.

"We can fix that," whispered Link with a lopsided smile.


	42. Fear No More : 14 : T-5

Winter mornings in Hyrule always began with fog, and all too often with misting rain - or worse, sleet. Miserable stuff in the city, souring moods and heaping difficulty on anyone required to work out-of-doors or humor the snappishness of those who didn't. Trade was bad this year - the Zora increased both tariff and toll on their smooth, sculpted roads, and the Goron had closed their borders to humans. Again.

As prices rose, so did banditry. Fully a third of the army patrolled the southern and western border, and still raiders slipped through. Rajo refused to allow either to disrupt his plans. Bad enough they couldn't go home for the winter holiday this year either.

Roan didn't mind - or at least pretended not to. Every season that rolled past made him more like his Hylian classmates. He moved like them, he spoke like them. Only in little moments and secret intrigues did his own easy brilliance shine more strongly. But at least _he_ didn't ask Rajo to follow his example.

Anna didn't either. She worried about the smallest and stupidest of things, but she never tried to make him into something he could never be. He could hide his hair under a hood, but he could no longer hide his height under the lie of three extra years to his history. He could wear a mask when he needed to go out at night, and fool stupid townsfolk into mistaking him for any number of terrifying things, but he couldn't display virtue enough to persuade bigots to set aside their hatred and trust a long-nosed bastard thief in broad daylight.

But now he'd won three harvest faire prizes for his mechanical designs and the King himself had selected his treatise on the nature and habits of lesser demons to be added to the royal archive. Vah Mikaem helped him secure two anonymous commissions for further research on demons, and Master Budro moved him from the fountain project to designing and casting new gate and lift mechanisms and dynamic locks for the prison.

Vah Kamenus did not approve of his interests, but he'd burned the draft of the fairy book in front of all the temple students as rank heresy last solstice, so it was his own fault, really. Anyways, everybody preferred to read things that agreed with them, and no one with a good reputation wanted to ruin it in becoming familiar with such miserable things.

Except, apparently, the Crown Princess. He knew something interesting must have happened when Vah Mikaem came to the library, shaking and sweating, and made him take the book of Light Hymns. That both the book and the note within it bore the crest of the royal family in the watermark sealed it as certain.

Which is precisely why he needed Ellon's help getting into the castle. Talon managed the deliveries at night, when the castle guard tripled and the outer walls swarmed with kesse and chu and stal. Ellon handled the morning deliveries, and worked on her broadloom in town while she sold the day's remaining stock. He merely had to persuade her, as stowing away in her wagon at seven feet tall had become vanishingly impossible, even with layered look-away spells.

Rajo strode through the murk with his head bowed, checking every alley and shadowed door with a little seeking cantrip as he went. He wasn't surprised to note a thief on the slate roof of a brightly painted townhouse, but she let him pass without interference. He decided to leave her to her work for now - if she got caught, the guard would leverage her trespass as cause to push foreigners ever harder. But as she had already thwarted the walls and watch so far, it hardly seemed sporting to scare her back to the desert without letting her even _try_ to fleece her mark yet.

The bright shop-bell ahead trembled gently under a little thread of magic. Ellen had the door unlatched by the time he reached her, and ushered him through at once. He ducked under the painted lintel, teasing her for shrinking in her old age.

Ellon locked the door again before she answered. "You should mind the curfew with as much effort as you put into giving me gray hairs."

"Hn. Where's the fun in that? Curfew is _easy_ to mind," said Rajo, stretching languidly and slapping a carved rafter above him just because he could. "You know I love a challenge almost as much as you."

"Layabout rascal," said Ellon with a shake of her head. "Hang your cloak and have a seat then. Anna's present will be done when it's done, and you fussing about making improvements to the draw harness will only make it take longer."

Rajo rolled his eyes. "I didn't come about the present _or_ the loom. Not really. But I was thinking about the drawings you make for your weaving - the little pattern ones, not the big brocades and tapestries. Do you still have the little toy loom threaded?"

"Just because it's small doesn't make it a toy," she said, rolling her eyes at him in turn. But she brought the delicate wooden machine and two little shuttles to the work table anyway.

Rajo hung his sodden cloak and slung his cittern off his back, pleased to see not a single drop of water marred the polished wood. He'd still need to tune it - the water-ward didn't keep out all the cold, and the fire-ward still needed more tests before he would risk even a cheap instrument to it.

Ellon raised a brow when he set the instrument next to the little loom, but she didn't look at all surprised when he pulled the book of Light Hymns from under his vest. "I thought this was misprinted at first, but the House of Red Lions would look foolish to approve any book with such obvious flaws, and never mind a holy one. But in certain kinds of light, you can see where the paper is marred from the _right_ printing, and the wrong note drawn in its place."

" _Certain_ kinds - you mean witchfire," grumped Ellon. She looked at the pages though, scanning the music for errors. "I don't see what this is to do with weaving."

Rajo turned the book sideways. "If these were blocks on your pattern drawings, instead of notes, what sort of cloth would it make?"

Ellon pulled a face, but she traced her finger over the staff anyway. "That would depend in part on if the slurs and ties should be read as floats and whether each pitch should be its own color. Many such drafts become insensible reduced to only two tones."

Rajo fanned through pages and plucked his notes from their hiding place. He unfolded the foolscap for her, smoothing it out so the staff read vertically. "None of the wrong notes had slur marks, only holds. Will this make a pattern in only light and shadow?"

Ellon worried her lip between her teeth, considering. "Were any bracketed by repeats?"

Rajo slid the second page out from under the first, where he'd copied in black the markings surrounding each of the wrong red notes.

"Where did you steal this book from anyway? You're not asking me to scribe some demon spell are you?" She frowned in suspicion, but she'd already begun flipping levers on the side of the little loom. Now, her curiosity would demand the attempt, just as he'd needed to spend the better part of the week trying to find music in the princess' secret message.

"It was a gift," he said, shrugging off the barb. She didn't mean anything by it - just a little joke, born of long habit. The first time he'd hidden in the delivery wagon, Ellon caught him with half a morning's egg harvest, all of them the rare blue-green ones courtesy of Malon's generous enthusiasm for her new friend. "She sent it to me through Mikaem, with a little nonsense note inside about looking forward to the amusement of reading a new analysis by a foreign scholar."

"She," noted Ellon with an arch look. "Is that all?"

Rajo shrugged, picking up the cittern to tune it while she fussed with setting up the loom. "Everyone knows about Kamenus' worst student by now."

"Bad students don't get awarded royal contracts," she chided.

"More likely the demon-books are for some fringe faction leader, not the King's people. Maybe Karakut. Hylians don't much like the Baron's darknut warriors," he said, trying a little glissando to test the sweetness of the strings. "Could be Elapidan. His estate borders both the desert and traditional moblin lands. Or maybe Ordun's duke - rumor says the mists of lost woods are stretching past the old warning stones in half a hundred places, and people blame _everything_ on demons."

Ellon made a rude noise, and suggested a common reel for him to play. The tune was ridiculously easy, but it did make for a decent warm-up. And the modified ice-ward in his gloves hadn't actually worked anyway.

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Rajo played song after song for her as she wove and cursed under her breath, pencilling odd little notations on the cipher as she worked. He tried not to get too excited when distinct lines and curves started to form upon the cloth. Until she finished the pattern, it would be foolish to anticipate the design.

So he leaned his back against the table and thought only of the music. He played common, popular tunes and a few of the more sprightly devotional songs, and as many provincial folk ballads as he could remember. When he ran out of those he fooled about with brighter variations on scraps of working songs he'd overheard in the prisons, and drinking songs from the public houses. Link didn't like to hear some of those, and Ellon chided him for being lewd when she recognized one of the _really_ bawdy ones.

Rajo ran out of other people's songs before she was done weaving out the cipher. He wanted to look, but if she got too annoyed with him she might stop altogether and make him wait for the answer. Which certainly wouldn't put her in any mood to to sneak him into the castle to confront the princess about her strange puzzle.

So he played his own wandering compositions for a while. Some of his sketches - especially early ones - were merely patched together from favorite little phrases or composed of common music turned inside out and backwards. Ellon didn't say anything about the unfamiliar music at first, but she called the slower melodies ominous.

He sped his fingers through the next one, which sounded silly to his ears, but his longest composition seemed suddenly more intriguing played a third faster than he'd written it. He looped back through the first few phrases, embroidering the theme with sly little arpeggios in minor thirds, losing the thread of _why_ he was playing to the immediacy of creation.

"You can argue with your weird music later," interrupted Ellon, though despite her fussing she sounded mildly amused. "I've one full repeat now if I've read the draft in the right order."

Rajo wound the melody into a bright flourish and turned, setting the cittern on the table as she freed the brake and unrolled the cloth from the front beam. Two symbols repeated from selvedge to selvedge - one which Ellon had no cause whatever to know, for it was an ancient idiogram usually translated as 'book'.

The other was an abstracted winged circle. The sigil used in high magic for fairies.

"Ellon - I need you to get me into the castle," he said, his tongue dry as dust. The crown princess wanted to know what _he_ knew about fairies. Somehow she must have learned about his treatise. But the maiden princess was supposed to be the purest heart in all of Hyrule. What could he possibly know about fairies that she didn't? He'd only seen a handful - wasn't it said the castle was built over a fairy spring in the ancient days?

"I can't. The guards are more strict than ever," she said. "They will hurt you when they catch you-"

"Let me worry about that," he said, fanning through the book of hymns for the original note. As if that would tell him anything he hadn't puzzled over a hundred times already.

"Anjo - they'll throw you in the dungeon if you fight them, and you know it," said Ellon, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "And that's if the king is merciful. You know how harsh he's punished the Gerudo bandits."

"That's why I have to see her," he said, meeting her eyes and willing her to understand. He tried to be careful about wishing, always, but this was _important_. "As soon as possible."

Yet Ellon shook her head. "It's too dangerous, no matter how charming your pretty maid might be."

"She's not just a maid," said Rajo, showing her the little note in the Princess' own hand. She didn't have to sign it - only royals would write a simple note with that many flourishes.

"Anjo," she said, rubbing his arm. "You're old enough to know better than to chase fairy stories. A secret royal summons can't mean anything good for a boy like you."

"I'm not afraid," he said coldly.

"I know," she sighed. "That's the problem."


	43. Fear No More : 15

Door latches seem a ridiculously simple thing, meriting no notice whatsoever until they fail. Rajo swore, unable to grasp the handle, let alone fit the key in place. If he cast magic now, the temple watchers might notice, and Link almost certainly would. Unless he was drunk.

Rajo breathed a quiet prayer for _all_ of them to be drunk, and spat lightning at the offending mechanism. The iron lockset screamed in protest, but gave way when he leaned against the door.

Link unfortunately proved to be neither drunk nor even asleep, for he caught Rajo as he stumbled into the sorry little house, staggering under his weight. "Merciful Din, what happened?"

"Nothing," lied Rajo, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to see if his lip was still bleeding. Not that he could really tell. "Just tripped over some cowards on the way home."

"Don't _nothing_ at me when I can see the truth bleeding on the floor," grumped Link, draping Rajo's more-or-less good arm over his thin shoulders.

It was still strange every time he had to face how much bigger he was than Link. It seemed wrong somehow. Though he'd outgrown the tallest Hylian over two years ago, it still unsettled his gut to look down at the man who raised him. Especially like this, when he was demonstrating such immense strength hidden inside his slender frame.

"Most of it's not mine - just lemme wash up and grab a red potion," grumbled Rajo. _Why_ did Link have to catch him like this?

Link turned him away from the stairs by main force, dragging him towards the little kitchen instead. "Did the Watch see you fighting?"

"No," lied Rajo. The whole Hylian army would know soon enough, since at least three of the sorry bastards were off-duty soldiers. He thought he recognized one of them from Roan's cadre, but smashing his face into the cobbles a few times had fixed that. "What do you care anyway?"

"Don't be like that," said Link, leading him in a wide arc around the big braided rug that anchored their benches and tables. "What provoked the boys this time? You weren't even _at_ the school today-"

"Why do they ever start shit? I exist," spat Rajo, catching one of the kitchen doors before it could pop back in his face. "You knew this would happen the day you dragged me here."

"Not like this," said Link, easing him down onto the wooden bench next to the covered bath and helping him unwind his heavy cloak. "It's bad this time, Jojo. I should have known you were in trouble again - the dream - I should have-"

"Should have what, _Vohatyr_?" Rajo poured his bitterness into the word, staring mercilessly into Link's cold blue eyes. "It's bad every time. Don't try to feed me fairy tales anymore. I'm not stupid."

"I know you aren't," said Link, shaking his head and helping him untangle himself from the mangled cittern strap. The instrument's body _should_ have survived the fight under his best shields, though at least two pair of the strings had snapped in the struggle. Link didn't say a word about it, setting the expensive instrument aside with complete indifference. "You'll need more healing than a little potion this time Jojo. _Why_ did you have to face them? How did they manage to-? How many of them must have come at you this time? Couldn't you have-"

"Run like a motherless Hylian coward? Hide under another false name in a faraway place? Drown my past in a bottle like you?" Rajo scoffed. "Do you even _know_ what the townspeople say?"

Link recoiled, grasping the edge of the sink for balance. "What are you talking about?"

" _Of course_. You don't know anything," said Rajo making a shooing motion with his mangled hands and then wishing he hadn't. "You can't even begin to understand when you've got your perfect stupid face and your perfect little lies and your stupid bottle to hide behind."

"That isn't true," began Link, gathering up a clean cloth in his pale fists.

"Isn't it? So what _do_ they say, _Vohatyr_ , about your _curious little habits_ , hm? If you know so much," snarled Rajo, trying to ignore the red shards dancing at the edge of his vision. "Tell me what they think of a man who never ages and sings to his garden in the middle of the night. Who buys enough rotgut to drown a pig but never even looks at a woman twice."

Link frowned in confusion, pouring water over the cloth and rearranging its folds. "I don't know, but I will try to fix it."

"Fix _what_? How can you fix _people_? How can you fix what's already happened?" Rajo demanded, rocking forward on the bench and trying to ignore how much everything hurt. "If you cared at all none of this would even be happening - but you don't. You just go on the same way you do every day, talking about fixing things but nothing _important_ ever changes. Look at you - you don't even try to defend yourself you shrinking violet."

"Jojo-" began Link.

" _Don't call me that_ ," shouted Rajo, closing his eyes against the red lightning but it followed him even into the darkness. "How _dare_ you act like everything is fine when the whole town thinks you - that you - _dammit_. Do you even look around you? How many grown men live alone with a couple boys? Even widowers keep a maid or - or family - or a mistress - or _something_. And Hylian men don't buy silks and jewelry and storybooks."

"But those weren't even for me," stammered Link.

"That _doesn't_ make it better," groaned Rajo. "Can't you understand? Nine years in this filthy country and every season another crop of wagging tongues. They don't just hate me for my witchblood."

"I'm sorry," said Link, his voice cracking.

" _Sorry_? That's it? _Sorry_ fixes nothing. _Sorry_ isn't worth two chipped rupee," shouted Rajo, forcing his eyes open again though the shadows pressed in him from every side and the storm curdled his stomach. "What's your excuse this time? What should we believe of the gutless deserter who couldn't cut it against an army of _girls_? What fairy story will you try to spin now?"

Link choked and shivered, his eyes reddened and glistening with welling tears. "Please - don't listen to the shadows this time. The darkness lies-"

"And you don't? You _dare_ pretend you haven't chained me under _fifteen years_ of lies?" Rajo pushed to his feet, pain lancing through every joint, the storm scouring the inside of his ribs. "Why _shouldn't_ I listen to them?"

"Because-" began Link.

"Tell me the truth this time," Rajo cut in, mind racing too fast to wait for Link to spin another excuse, another platitude. "The _real_ truth. Why _am_ I here? _Why do you keep me?_ "

"Because," said Link again, gesturing helplessly. "A - a hero saves everyone."

"Maybe I don't _want_ a hero," shouted Rajo, feeling his heart shredded between rage and despair. Not once in his life had Link allowed him to become anything more to him than a duty. A burden. A reminder of his past. No matter how good he tried to be. How hard he worked. How strong he grew or how many prizes he brought home. Nothing he did was ever enough. "Have you ever once asked what _I_ wanted?"

Link frowned in confusion, taking a single step forward. "But I have! Many times - you have a whole room full of your favorite things. You picked out nearly every plant in the garden. You - you picked the colors for Ma Idrea's rug."

Rajo roared in frustration, but Link only shook his head in bafflement, unable or unwilling to hear him. As always.

The storm boiled from his skin, sparking lightning as the shadows pressed ever closer. Link said something, his stupid little pale face empty and cold. Rajo howled his pain, letting the lightning fill his hands. The prickling warmth didn't soothe him this time - not with Link's cold blue eyes pinning him down. He sliced the air with his hand and a tangle of light flew from his fingers.

Link scrambled under it somehow, twisting and raising a bright something as the second rolled off his hands.

The lightning reversed course with a fizzling crack - he batted it away once - twice -

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

Rajo woke with a splitting headache and the acrid taste of red potion on his tongue. His shoulder screamed at him when he tried to move, and he tried vainly to convince himself that pitching the ringleader over a fence into a hostel's midden was worth the pain.

He stared at the shadowed ceiling with one eye - the other had swollen shut and half his head seemed to be bound up in some kind of crude bandage soaked in green-smelling goop. By the angle of the golden shards of light scattered over his star charts above, he judged it an hour or so after dawn. Clear, for once, despite the dreary season.

Rajo flexed fingers and toes experimentally, wincing at the lingering pain. Everything seemed more or less where it belonged, even if Link had wrapped him up in a hundred rupee worth of mistlinen and potions to make it so. Because _of course_ he faithfully tended every duty to perfection, even the hateful ones. He felt sick with the weight of it all, but rolling over to retch would hurt. So he thrust against the nausea with every crumb of will he could muster, and endeavored not to think of anything.

Rajo had never been good at not thinking about things.

He wasn't surprised to find a slops bowl already beside his bed, with a clean cloth hanging through the iron ring on his nightstand. Because _of course_ Link would tend his ungrateful, wicked, selfish ward with every appearance of perfect compassion.

Rajo lay on his side, looking out at his room and praying his stomach would settle again. He let his eyes wander, reminding himself of every book, every model, every decoration. Little of it was truly his in any way - even his best designs and researches drew heavily on the work of the unknown man who fell to the darkness before he was born. His uncle? Or his father?

Rajo couldn't decide which he actually wanted it to be - or even which would hurt less. Anna thought he shouldn't care so much about the right words to attach to a dead man, and maybe she was right about that part. She knew only the threadbare old lie of 'Vohatyr the wandering carpenter and the foundling he adopted', and to her, it was obvious Link had become his father in every way that mattered. Which wasn't precisely _wrong_ \- but wasn't quite right either. She thought the best of everybody, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her Link didn't want to be anyone's father, much less his.

Rajo frowned, irrationally irritated by the untidy heap of yesterday's clothing in the middle of his desk. Link had shoved the little book of light hymns randomly on the shelf above and piled all the cipher notes on top like they didn't matter. It didn't make sense - he should have recognized the royal crest at once.

"There's tea when you're ready," said Link from the door.

Rajo groaned, annoyed with himself for having dozed off enough to miss his approach. "Don't want tea."

"Too bad," said Link, leaning hip and shoulder against the doorframe. "It's good for you, and it'll be a few hours before we stop for breakfast."

"What are you ta-" began Rajo.

"Plans have changed," cut in Link, his voice raw but unwavering. "Don't worry about packing. I'll take care of it later."

"We can't leave today," said Rajo, pushing himself upright and grabbing the heavy bedcurtains for balance. "I have a project-"

"The ministers can wait for new locks, and the rich can wait on someone else to write them shadow books. That's not important anymore," said Link, shaking his head.

"Not those," said Rajo, drawing a deep breath and meeting Link's cold blue eyes. "Someone from the castle sent me a message about fairies. That's why I was out so late yesterday, when the cowards followed me."

"They can wait," said Link, jaw set. He waited a moment, and when Rajo made no move to rise, he pushed away from the door and stalked closer, hand outstretched.

Rajo grasped his pale, unblemished hand in both of his bandaged ones. "I didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident. I should have walked away when the lightning came. I thought I could still control it."

Link shook his head sadly, combing back a stray curl from Rajo's forehead with his free hand. "The horses are waiting, and your tea is getting cold. If you want help getting ready, just say so."

Which meant he wasn't going to change his mind, and this would be just one more thing they never talked about.

"Yeah," said Rajo, his chest tight. "Sure."

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

True to his word, Link didn't pull off the road until nearly noon. But at least he'd packed a whole satchel of snacks. Creamy white cheese and baked apple preserves, tiny round charm loaves from the bakery and a whole bottle of spicy egg salad. The little two-wheeled cart moved along at a brisk pace, and was just barely long enough Rajo could lay down in it. If it'd had a canopy, or a third wheel to keep it from seesawing so readily, it would almost be pleasant.

Link helped him down from the cart without comment, gesturing for Rajo to tend the horses while he cooked a proper breakfast. He made more tea, and insisted Rajo choke down another dose of red potion, all without a word.

Rajo watched him in the silence, trying to remember when he'd last seen Link with that odd, hollow expression. It was something worse than cold, with a little sadness around the edges, but mostly it just made him strange. Like he'd become a moving statue, and his spirit had gone somewhere else entirely.

When Link touched his shoulder and gestured to the cart after they finished eating, it reminded him suddenly of the last fishing trip before they left the farm. Da Corfo taught them all how dangerous the lake could be when they were very little. Staying wet in the wind and cold could kill just as readily as the treacherous ice. Roan had been furious at Link's unfeeling rejection of everything that mattered to him - and he wasn't stupid. _He_ knew at once it was all Rajo's fault.

Rajo stood in a daze, pulling the bandages from his head and squinting against the light to see better with two eyes, though a disorienting red haze remained on the bad side. Link frowned at the goopey linen, but took the wadded mess anyway.

And then he remembered the morning after the fire, when he confessed about the dropping the bottle and losing the pink fairy. Link had looked hollow then too. He must have known then what Rajo didn't learn until a few years ago: fairies and light spirits possess healing magic powerful enough restore life to the dead. True life, not merely the uncanny semblance of it which demons command.

"You're _afraid_ for me," said Rajo softly.

Link only shrugged, looking away.

"You didn't turn right for the farm and there's not enough in the cart to even cross the lowlands," said Rajo, frowning down at him. "Where are we going?"

Link winced, fidgeting with the bandage cloth. "I don't know. I was - hoping we could solve that together. Just the two of us."

Rajo couldn't find any words for that. The princess' request lost all urgency, and the challenges of his other work seemed petty and purposeless now. He ruffled a hand through Link's fair hair, and let the moment fill him.


	44. Fear No More : 16

The days passed in a strange kind of idyll, especially when the snow came. Unlike the muddy, frozen slush that came to the city, snowfall on the plains drifted down from the heavens pure and fluffy - as if it strove to embody the most romantic idea of snow.

After a week of that weather, they traded the little cart and some fancy preserves to a farmer in exchange for a sled, complete with silverbell harness for the horses. The couple of banded blue chests Link had brought away from Castletown proved to hold plenty of winter woolens and hunting gear, a cozy tent, his cittern and extra strings - even Link's spindle and a few painted ropes of combed wool.

Rajo regretted leaving his books behind, but maybe when they settled somewhere, they could write to Roan and he could bring them things. As long as they kept wandering though, it was enough to have the music to soothe the old silences between them. Some nights, Link even looked almost happy as they ate together beside the fire.

Rajo's injuries healed, and no soldiers came coursing down the road after them. Link skirted the edges of old pine forests, into rolling wilderness full of elk and deer and foxes - they even heard a few wolves in the distance, but saw only tracks.

They traded at farms along the way - or rather, Link traded, and Rajo stayed with the sleigh. They avoided towns altogether by silent accord - but the third time Link changed course away from wide forested roads, Rajo asked why.

Link set his narrow jaw and didn't say a word the rest of the day.

Rajo let him sulk, playing quiet songs that reminded him of the farm. But when they stopped for the night he dreamed of war.

 _ **-o - O - o -**_

Rajo often dreamed of war, and worse things, but this dream was different. He stood apart in this dream, looking down at a land blackened and dying. The sky burned and the rivers curdled with blood. Whole villages lay in ruins, overgrown with leafless thornbriars, and still the armies clashed over hill and field. Banners rose and fell, and as he watched, the soldiers melted from one form to the next. Now Hylian, now Zora, now stalbones and now spectres.

Rajo watched every shape of mortal and immortal rise and fall under the burning sky. A distant and terrible god laughed, and from the heavens fell bolts of lightning into the roiling battle below. Red and blue and green lightning sparked and fizzled among the quicksilver fighters, and dragons rode the burning wind in endless violent knots.

Over and over the battle played out, and through it all the terrible voice laughed.

Usually in these dreams, Rajo was plunged into the battle with everyone else, or the battle was only beginning or had already ended. And this time, not only did he know he was dreaming, but he could move around of his own will to see different angles. He couldn't leave the thorny grove he was in, but he could look closer at anything below merely by wishing he could, as if he had a magnificent magical telescope before him.

It was still terrible, but in a more distant way than he'd dreamed before. And for the first time, when he told the dream that was enough, that he wanted to wake up, he did.

 _ **-o - O - o -**_

Rajo sat up carefully in the little tent, hunched over so his head wouldn't push against the cloth. The vividness of the war dream lingered, but he could see the tent walls bright with moonlight, and feel the texture of familiar wool blankets, and the vaguely queasy sense that always attended waking suddenly.

Link whimpered in his sleep, wrapped tight in his own blankets with one hand clutching the ricasso of the naked sword beside him. Rajo didn't remember him unsheathing it, so he must have stayed awake far later. There was an odd glistening shadow under his hand - when Rajo looked closer he saw Link's grip had drifted just enough to catch the blade edge.

Even if he _was_ wary of wild things or pursuing soldiers in the night, he shouldn't have taken the blade from the scabbard. Rajo untangled himself so he could trap the rest of the blade under layers of blanket before he tried to move Link's hand. Just in case.

Rajo touched him lightly, hesitating when the roar of battle swelled around him. Usually he didn't catch more than distant howls of noise from so little. He'd eavesdropped on many of Link's nightmares, mostly by accident when he was small. When Link was drunk, his dreams weren't much worse than wave-sickness and noise, and Rajo didn't feel much more than that unless he touched Link's face. Which was dangerous, because even brushing his hair back usually woke him.

His nightmare must be very strong tonight. Rajo carefully took the sword away, returning it safely to its scabbard, though its absence made Link whimper again and frown, his pale face contorted with fear. Rajo restored the peace tie over the crossguard, and laid it down again where Link's fingers would brush against the pommel.

But when Link groped for the hilt, he caught Rajo's hand too, and harsh purple light bloomed around them with an acrid sort of fog.

 _ **-o - O - o -**_

Rajo turned his head as the tent vanished, debating whether he should pull away, or wake Link on purpose.

A legendary sheikah warrior advanced on them with menacing step, his red eyes sharp and unwavering. Chains of light and shadow draped over the sheikah like a fine shawl, and he held a bloody sword by its middle.

He thrust the dripping blade at Rajo, saying only, _You have no choice. If you believe the prophecies, you must do it._

Rajo shook his head, remembering the few things Link had confessed about the war. The gods were unbearably cruel to their champion, burdening him with dreadful commands and torturous memories.

"You've asked too much already," said Rajo quietly. "His service is finished. Let him sleep."

The sheikah did not answer, but vanished in a cloud of smoke that made him cough. Rain broke over them, driving back smoke and mist - but Rajo soon wished it didn't.

All too swiftly, the rain became blood pouring from grotesque mouths set into horrible froglike faces trapped in the slimy dark walls. Hands rose from the gore around them, pulling at the blankets, at their clothes, crying with many voices.

 _Blood and greed, blood and greed_ , they said.

 _Why didn't you save_ _ **me**_ they said.

Rajo lifted Link in his arms, blanket and all, and ran.

He wasn't a child anymore. He had years of Temple lessons and the secrets of a dead man's books to strengthen his Will. Wishing was still dangerous - but all magic was dangerous, in the end.

If he could hammer his power against Link's nightmare long enough, he might be able to force his mind onto better ground. Maybe not happy memories - but at least peaceful ones. Away from the cries of the damned that he couldn't save, away from the weight of his perceived failures.

The storm whirled around them, and thunder shook the bones of the earth beneath. He let the hands tear his clothing, clutching Link's shrinking body to his chest, and kept running. He recited the simplest of prayers to the Light as he barreled through the consuming corridors, around corners, climbing endless stairs, scrambling over broken stones.

At last they broke into the open, surrounded by the blessed wind of the storm and the patter of a softer rain. A Hylian woman with lapis eyes waited for him, draped in noon-white and primrose and the shining purple of fifty rupee gems.

"Princess," said Rajo, bowing to her with the shivering child-form of Link's nightmare self still wrapped in his arms. "Release your Champion - he served you faithfully but his mission is over. Mortal heroes have limits."

She held out her hand, her eyes soft with compassion, but the ground split open and a great monster crawled out of the fissure between them. It bore the tusks and feet of a boar, the tail and teeth of a lion, and the horns of a ram. It stood upright like a human, eyes glowing with madness and pain as it raised a pair of strange shining weapons to the sky.

"That is _enough_ ," shouted Rajo, turning his back to the demon-twisted creature. "Even if you will not permit him to be happy, for the love of Light, you _must_ let him rest."

Below, the shapeshifting armies from his own dream battled across the blackened landscape. The sky burned exactly as it had for him, and again the wretched voice in the storm laughed.

Rajo frowned at the thornbriars on the far side of the dead fields, and the colossal living oak tree towering above them. The copper-edged leaves drifting down from its massive green canopy made it seem to be weeping, and he saw a faint green light shining at its foot.

Aside from the Princess and the demon's victim, the tree was the only truly living thing in sight. Hylians believed a powerful guardian spirit lived in exactly such a tree, deep in the Lost Woods. Legends said only a pure heart could thread the labyrinth of that wild forest to reach it, for it was guarded by legions of lesser spirits and trials devised in the ancient days before the goddesses divided the spirit world and the mortal one.

They _also_ said the guardian of the forest held a relic of immense power which could grant mortals infinite wealth. The forest consumed many souls who went into it seeking that wealth.

But Rajo knew the older stories, which said the first guardians of the sacred elements were appointed by the golden goddesses themselves, and also the secrets of the Light Priests which said the wildwoods were sacred to Farore. _Wealth_ was a concern of Din and Nayru - Farore's blessings were life and healing.

Rajo closed his eyes, and centered all his will on the memory of Idrea's kitchen garden. He summoned the scent of berries ripening in the summer sun, and the soothing fragrance of flowering memoryleaf. He summoned the drowsy sound of honeybees getting drunk in the sage, and angelwings singing to one another under the squash vines.

Rajo opened his eyes to soft summer twilight, exactly as he remembered it, before the fire, before they had to leave for Hyrule. The blue milkweed danced merrily in a gentle breeze, and a few lazy young cuccoo wandered the pea gravel paths, hunting for a bedtime snack. He laid Link's childlike dream-form on one of the wide benches under the apple trees, next to the blurry statue of Farore.

"Sleep _here_ ," he said, smoothing the blankets over his fragile body the same way he would soothe Taedra or Malon when they were overtired. "Remember the farm. You loved the farm. Dream _here_ , in the garden, where the only trouble that can find you is the long wait for Ma Idrea's next batch of pies."

Link mumbled in his sleep, frowning, but did not wake inside the dream or out of it.

 _ **-o - O - o -**_

Rajo sat beside him a long time, his breath steaming in the cold. His mind raced, picking through the details of both dreams.

Link had never seemed troubled by the woods around the farm, but those weren't wildwood like in the dreams. The forested roads Link avoided weren't quite wild either, but this far from the capital there would begin to be pockets of wilderness within striking distance of those roads.

The _**Book of the Sands**_ said walking in the spirit world required both a stone-steady will, and a heart fearless as the sun. Weakness in either would bar entry at best, leaving the seeker firmly mired in the concerns of the mundane, mortal world. It also warned of both guardians and ghosts, temptations and monsters.

Some were shaped by the gods, to guard mortals from touching powers too great for them to handle, to test seekers' worthiness for the blessings in their care. Others arose later, born of mortal greed and fear and hatred, or sent by demons to corrupt the pathways and divert heroes and sages from their purpose.

Like Hylian legend, the writings of the ancient Geldo warned that a seeker could be trapped or injured in the spirit world, and their mortal body would wither and die as a consequence. Accordingly the book advised rites of purification, and honing the body through years of rigorous training before venturing into the sands to seek the guidance of the holy spirits there.

The book held up the terrible fates of those who surrendered to malicious influence or drew the attention of the guardians as warning - the Geldo believed greedy or hateful mortals lost in the spirit world would become stalfos, doomed to wander in eternal violence. Children who stumbled into the spirit world on the other hand, they believed would become mischievous stalkid, led to plague mortals with dangerous pranks by the cat-eared demon Murasa.

Hylians regarded all demons as enemies of Light, and therefore evil. The _**Book of Sands**_ said nothing whatever of good _or_ evil - the ancient Geldo were far more concerned with weakness and strength, virtue and selfishness, cleverness and foolishness. The book detailed proper offerings to please Murasa, who they honored as the patron of lost things and tangled thread. It also devoted many pages to prayers and sacrifices for their own goddess, the Lady of Sands.

Where Hylians believed their long ears better suited them to hear the gods, the ancient Geldo firmly held that _they_ were direct descendants, and the King born to them every hundred years was the mortal avatar of Her consort.

The Lord of Storms.

 _ **-o - O - o -**_

Rajo murmured a prayer to Din as dawn kissed the perfect white snow. He'd never once heard Link invoke the goddesses of wisdom or life, so it felt wrong somehow to consign him to their protection even if that was more of their province. But both Hylian and Geldo writings said Din's fire sustained the passions of mortals, and Link would need Her help to reach the farm in the dead of winter with only one horse to pull his sleigh.

He checked his wards one last time, satisfied they would guard the little camp against anything short of an army, and carefully tore a page from the tiny octavo journal he always carried.

 _Da -_

 _Sorry about the horse. There were footprints in the snow this morning, and I didn't want the thief to get away._

 _In school I learned there was an old trade road to the west which could take us home towards the farm without having to circle back near the capital._

 _Think about it - I'll catch up with you after I've taken care of things._

 _Jojo_

Rajo laid the note just inside the tent, weighed down by a single fat red apple, and cast a tiny little spell to persuade Link to stay abed until noon at least.

He apologized to the drowsy black carthorse, leading him well away from the camp before he dared mount. The poor thing wouldn't be able to carry him far like this, but he only needed to reach the edge of the wildwood. If the gods smiled, he might even find the spirit road into the Lost Woods before nightfall.


	45. Fear No More : 17 : T-4

There are three kinds of fog everyone knows. The most pleasant is the gentle, wispy haze common to early mornings or the fringes of soft summer showers. Clammy, clogging, soupy grayness of late fall and muddy springs however are what people usually think of when they speak of fog. More dangerous are the snow-fogs of winter, or the mistcloaks around the sudden hailstorms of early summer, or the deceptively thin blanketing mist that hides ankle-turning divots and axle-cracking rocks on dreary nights.

Diamond-dust, however, may be the most annoying. Rajo leaned against a burly beech tree beside a patch of gray maybe-sky, shaking thousands of tiny beads of ice from his muffler and turning the folds again. He slipped his mittens off in the shelter of his pockets so he could scrub his eyes clear for the next twist of the path.

At least he didn't have to trudge through snow - though the damp soaked through his heavy trousers and began on his boots anyway. Everything about the wildwood pretended to be soft and lovely, but even a little more acquaintance discovered a thorn under every bloom.

Rajo stared at the sad little patch of maybe-sky just barely visible through this thinner bit of canopy, vainly trying to judge the hour. He was angry with himself for losing count of his steps, but he couldn't be more than a few dozen off. It should be sunset or even twilight by now, but the grayishness above held all the same blurry brilliance as it had at noon.

Rajo ate another apple, core and all, and slipped his mittens back on. It felt wrong to be surrounded by this much green and still be so cold. But at least this deep in the forest, the wind moved very little - and _that_ mostly where the path divided.

Rajo wound his muffler tight and marched into the shadows again, expecting another hour or two of the weird bright diamond fog before the knotted, twisted branches opened up on another pitiful clearing. This time, however, the wind guided him through only two switchbacks and dumped him out in a huge open grove, sweltering as the rest of the woods had been frigid.

Rajo dropped to one knee, stripping off his mittens to feel the damp earth. Warm, and soft with good humus, fragrant as Idrea's garden just before planting. He patted the soil back into place and waited for the wind to change again.

It didn't. The air seemed to laze about the uncanny summer grove in a gentle loop, laughing at him.

Rajo coiled his muffler into a tight bundle around his mittens, stuffing it deeply into a pocket and buttoning it tight. The wall of trees defining the sloping grove were no different from the gnarled, tangled things lining the twisted path - but a ring of stumps presided in the clearing itself. A few were split and blackened from old lightning strikes, others splintered and jagged from the fall of their companions. Time and weather softened the rest, sloughing off shattered bark and draping pitted old wood with lush new growth.

"Damn," said Rajo under his breath, unbuttoning his coat as he stood. He didn't dare take it off, even though he was sweating miserably in the enchanted summer twilight.

He walked softly along the deer tracks woven between the stumps, careful not to disturb too much of the lush undergrowth, especially where anything bloomed. The usual winter noise had died away entirely - not a single bird gossiped in the branches. The twilight glittered on hundreds of silent gossamer wings drifting on the lazy breeze, but no crickets sang.

Spirits dwelled in such places - benevolent or capricious, mischievous or cruel, any of them could be dangerous.

But at the bottom of the clearing, past the still pond, a blue fairy meandered in aimless whorls where the ground dropped away into a shadowed ravine. Her light was dim and flickering, but he could never mistake the gentle bell-like song of those fluttering wings.

"Peace, little one," he rumbled softly, weaving his way towards her. The muggy summer heat sapped his strength, but he knew better than to surrender to its temptations. "Did you lose your way back to your spring?"

The little fairy didn't answer, but her flight sagged with mournful tones, and she turned away towards the ravine. If her spring lay somewhere at the bottom, perhaps it had gotten buried under deadfall or mudslides. If he could restore her power, or even if she was only a lesser fairy needing to refresh herself in pure waters, she might be able to answer some of his questions.

Rajo followed her down the wicked slope, slick with drifts of fallen leaves and broadleaf burrs. The leaves hid treacherous little wallows and tangled ironvine roots, and before he'd descended a dozen steps, the prolific safflinas and trailing sweet autumn clematis and strange glowing blooms died off entirely. Instead, the bottom of the ravine was full of darkest violet oleander and bittersweet, riotous thornapple and feathery hemlock.

The stench of rot grew stronger the deeper he went. Rajo wasn't terribly surprised to find carnivorous deku baba in the shadows where the ravine cut away to the side of the massive, mushroom-dotted roots of an ancient fallen oak. He stripped off his coat at last, winding it around his left arm as a shield.

Somewhere in the mad dash through the gauntlet of hungry weeds and lurking mindless chu, he lost sight of the weak blue fairy. He debated turning back to look for her as he eased down another crooked jag in the ravine - but the twilight seemed brighter below, and she may have simply flown ahead.

Rajo nearly fell when a dead, gnarled root rose up directly under his feet.

" **You-! Grasping, greedy, trespassing mortal,** " boomed a strange voice in ancient high Hylian from the wide bottom of the ravine.

Rajo looked up - and up - and yet further up at the incredible towering oak before him. The trunk was wider than two village squares, and the knotty bark and colossal feeder roots seemed to form a bearded face the size of the castle gatehouse. A double handful of stubby, sickly branches straggled out from the bole, but the living canopy didn't stretch out until somewhere above a hundred feet.

"I'm not here for money," said Rajo, glancing around the guardian oak's clearing for any hint of the sickly fairy. He noticed a hint of light and glimmer off to the right of the oak, but _that_ was an intense green somewhere between chartreuse and emerald.

" **You cannot have it** ," boomed the voice. " **Vile thief! Deceiving interloper! Wicked, murderous usurper!** "

"I said, I'm not after wealth. I have plenty," said Rajo carefully. He picked his way through the rotting deadfall, studying the vast tree. "And I haven't killed anything in your woods. Not on purpose anyway."

" _ **Yet**_ ," grumbled the tree. " **But** _ **I**_ **know the tireless evil in your wicked heart - hear me, infidel. All of the Light will stand against you and your vile curses.** "

Rajo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I came looking for a way to _break_ a curse, Spirit, not cast one. So I missed a few prayers - it's not like I can tell the hour here anyway."

" **Lies! You may be able to fool shortsighted mortals with your secret death curses,** " said the tree spirit. " **But** _ **I**_ **see everything. I** _ **know**_ **about your wicked sorcerous** **plots.** "

Rajo frowned at the tree spirit, unsettled by the sight of death's-head spiders creeping along deep furrows in the gray-brown bark. Vah Kamenus snarled similar things if he caught Rajo alone on one of his bad days. "If I cut back some of these weeds and spiderwebs, you'll be able to get more sun. You'll feel better in the sun."

" **Foul creature - you may** _ **try**_ **to trick me, but I have unraveled hundreds of generations of mortal attempts to defile the sacred places,** " said the tree spirit.

"Whyever would I trick you?" Rajo reined in his temper and laid his hand over his heart, bowing. "Let's try cutting out a few, and see if it helps. I bet the spiders itch."

" **At what heavy price? Your kind is forever deceitful and greedy,** " grumbled the tree spirit.

"I seek only to learn, Spirit," said Rajo in the same voice he would use with a nervous horse. "Also, I'm good at catching cankerworms and borers. If you let me climb, I can clear out the rotting acorns too. How long have you been ill?"

" **Aha! I knew you would come hunting for it,** " boomed the tree spirit. " **But you shall never have it. Never! I have stood against demons before, and I will not give way before evil.** "

Rajo tightened his jaw and fought to keep his breaths even and his hands open as he shrugged back into his coat in the sweltering summer heat. "I know how frustrating demons can be - but I have studied magic half my life. I know many hidden things. I can help you."

" **For a price-!** " grumbled the tree spirit. " **Always a price. Always grasping. Always greedy. I will not allow you to lay hands upon it!** "

"Keep your treasure," sighed Rajo. "I came to ask you about a dream. Well - really, it's several dreams, and my father, and history and stuff. But mostly about the dream."

" **Ah, the prophecy** ," rumbled the tree spirit. " **I have suspected the destined events were beginning ever since that Hylian woman fled into my forest with her infant.** "

Rajo folded his hands behind his back. "Do you remember why she sought your protection? How long ago she came? Or at least - what happened to them?"

" **Oh, she died. The soldiers hurt her very badly** ," said the tree spirit. " **Her blood upset the forest children, but she didn't live long enough to change. I keep her bones beside me, under the stone the children made.** "

"And the child-?" Rajo asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

" **He is part of the forest now,** " said the the tree spirit. " **But** _ **you**_ **\- you do not belong. I know you - vile thief! Deceiving interloper! Wicked, murderous usurper!** "

"I am _not_ ," growled Rajo, staring fixedly at the far wall of the ravine. He would _not_ lose his temper in the spirit realm.

" _ **Yet**_ ," grumbled the tree. " **But** _ **I**_ **know the tireless evil in your wicked heart - hear me, infidel. All of the Light will stand against you and your vile curses.** "

"Stupid old tree," grumbled Rajo, striving to mimic the kind of stolid patience that came so easily to Corfo and Ensren. _They_ would never shout at a dotty old man, no matter how nasty he was.

 _ **-o - O - o -**_

Threading the labyrinth in reverse was easier - as long as he had to squint against the wind, he was headed the right way. Which proved to be a very good thing, since the summer heat followed him with every blistering step. Rajo stripped off his sweater and sweat-soaked tunic, bundling it all together and tying it to his belt with his muffler so he wouldn't be tempted to set it down.

He didn't see the blue fairy again - but he thought he heard her wings from time to time as he wrestled with his thoughts. The guardian tree spirit said many things - but how much of it was oracle, and how much was madness? The only thing he felt certain of was that the ancient tree was, in fact, dying.

But instead of nurturing a hundred saplings to follow him in guarding the sacred heart of the forest, or even raising up _one_ to transfer his power to when the oak died, the spirit refused to drop any seeds at all. He seemed just as determined to hold fast to the failing shell as he was to keep Rajo from discovering whatever holy artifact he guarded.

The noise of something large crashing through the undergrowth pulled him out of his meditations. He put his back to one of the twisted elms lining the path. The noise kept advancing - the forest distorted the growling sound of the creature, but it seemed disorderly and violent. Rajo picked up a fallen branch, holding his breath.

Link hacked through thornbriar and clematis, and stumbled into the open. He leaned on his pitted, sap-streaked sword for balance, his blue eyes wild and his breaths ragged and labored.

"Not again," he rasped.

"You were supposed to go _home_ ," said Rajo, horrified by Link's shredded clothing and frostbitten fingers.

Link spat, heaving himself more or less upright and scrubbing his left sleeve across his mouth. His face was a mess of layered bruises and lacerations, his dull yellow hair matted with mud and dried gore. " _Won't_ let it happen again."

"Of course not," said Rajo, holding out his empty hand in a gesture of peace. Even deep in his cups, Link was never this bad. "The war is a long time ago now. Put the sword away."

"No," said Link, planting himself in the middle of the path. "Won't let you win. Not again. Never again."

"What - no. Da, it's _me_ ," said Rajo, pushing away from the tree and calling a little ball of light so Link would be able to see better in the muggy woodland twilight.

Link howled a threadbare warcry and drew back his blade, turning his right side forward.

Rajo bit back a curse when he realized he didn't move _that_ arm because it hung at the wrong angle, and under the odorous grime it was swollen and oozing. "Stop. You'll only hurt yourself."

Link cried out again, charging forward with a wild slash. Rajo deflected it with the branch twice, and on the third strike he was able to catch Link's wrist with his off hand and disarm him.

"Enough," said Rajo firmly.

Link howled, ramming his ruined shoulder into Rajo's gut. "Never-"

Rajo sighed, trapping the frail man in his arms. "It's just a nightmare. You shouldn't have come into the woods."

" _You're_ the nightmare," growled Link. "You - monstrous-"

"Shh," said Rajo, trying vainly to comb his wild hair back. Horrific visions pushed against him, blood and fire and the unhallowed dead screaming in the shadows. "It's over, hero. Time to go home."

"Can't," said Link, shaking his head. "Ganondorf. Have to. Take it back."

"Not like this you don't," said Rajo, lifting him up and settling his slight weight over one shoulder. He'd only been away a day and a half at most - but Link was thin as a corpse and rambling in violent delirium as if he'd been wandering the woods for weeks on end.

Which - maybe he had. The legends did say only the pure of heart could thread the wildwood labyrinth.

Rajo tried to hold his focus on the road ahead. But with every step, more of Link's nightmares became his own. The sky burned, and a dark rider on a black horse thundered across the wasteland ahead of them, laughing.

 _Do you realize who you're dealing with? I am Ganondorf - and soon I will rule the world_ , he boomed in a voice dark as night.

 _What have you done to our prince?_ said a woman behind him with a drillfield roughness sharpening her sorrow.

 _It is time to be a hero_ , said an eerily familiar young voice in the shadows.

 _If you believe the prophecy, you have no choice. You must do it,_ said a steel-sharp voice in perfect, courtly Hylian.

 _Today we start a new game,_ said his own voice - except it wasn't him at all. He would never say anything so frivolous and strange. _You're going to save the world, Link. But you have to follow all the rules._ _Do you promise?_

When the earth split open below him, he stumbled, and took a knee so he wouldn't fall. A gout of black smoke and violet magic rose from the fissure, and lifted a dead man's body from the darkness. His regal cloak hung in tatters and his armor was battered and bloody. His head lolled at an unnatural angle, and his throat had been slit. Weird yellow-green light shone where his eyes should have been, and his body arched back, his flesh rippling and distorting with sickening wet crunches.

Rajo bowed before the vision and emptied his guts on the road.

When he looked up again, the man was gone, but the monster remained. Exactly as he dreamed, the massive horned beast roared in pain and drew a pair of three-pronged daggers from the miasma.

 _Blood and greed, blood and greed_ , chanted a hundred bodiless voices in the storm.

 _Destroy him with the sacred sword_ , cried the princess.

The demon-twisted beast roared, tusks bright - but wrapped in that roar he heard a child's desolate wail.

 _Nonono. No mad! No more play monster! Be good be good - no eating Jojo - Jojo taste bad! Leggo leggo, no tell, our secret! No mad. Secret! Be good be good._

 _Good? You? Never,_ said Link as he drew his sky-bright sword, but his voice broke as he said it. _It's you, Ganondorf. It's always you. And I will always be here to stop you._


	46. Fear No More : 18 : T-3

Rajo leaned against the solid, sunwarmed boulder, and waited for his eyes to accept the unbelievable brilliance of noon. He felt disgusting, every thread of his winter clothing sweat-soaked and ruined. He offered a blasphemous prayer of thanks to Farore that the sleep spell had worked at last, and Link at least was insensible to the unseasonable heat.

Not that it mattered, really.

Rajo stared out at the gentle green hills, lush lowland farms and rich apple orchards, and tried to find a word for the tempest scouring the inside of his ribs. They were all right. Hyrule was a land of quiet beauty and orderly peace. Anyone could see that.

Rajo stripped down to shirt and trousers, mostly so he could feel the sun on his skin after the muggy twilight of the Woods. With every passing minute the afternoon grew even warmer, and Rajo didn't look forward to the long walk ahead. The nearest village looked at least two days distant.

But before he could even get Link settled properly again, Farore smiled - or maybe Nayru laughed, for the faint tickle of bright harness bells and the clicky-creak of the Beedle wagon rode the languid summer breeze. Rajo left his bundled woolens behind and trudged toward the sound, quickening his step when he caught the nonsensical warbling song of the Beedle himself.

Another handful of breaths and the Beedle's matched bays pulled around the sandstone boulders heaped at the bend in the road below. Rajo reached the verge and had already waved to the perennially cheerful merchant before he realized he didn't have an actual plan.

Not that it mattered, really.

The Beedle choked on his idle melody and stood up on the driving box, crying; "Great good goddesses above preserve me-!"

"It's ok," called Rajo, sifting through shards of old memories for something to persuade him. "I have money from Voh, just don't tell Da."

"Nayru's grace, but I don't believe it," said the Beedle, hauling on the reins until his horses agreed to stop. "Am I dreaming or do I see Rajenaya all grown up?"

"Maybe a little of both. Headed toward your western circuit?" Rajo forced a smile and slid Link down from his shoulder to carry him more gently the rest of the way to the wagon.

"Din's mercy but you're _enormous_ ," said the Beedle in awe. With him standing in the wagon and Rajo beside it, their eyes were nearly on level. Most people hated that, but he wondered if people who traveled more or lived near the desert maybe got used to the idea of Gerudo height. Probably not though, since they were always raiding back and forth in border provinces. "What _have_ they been feeding you in Hyrule and where can I buy it?"

Rajo laughed. "Didn't you hear? Hyrule is the land of milk and honey. It's candy for breakfast and cake for lunch, trifle for dinner and pie for dessert. Although personally I think the cake ought to be first."

The Beedle clicked his tongue, still staring in disbelief. "Never imagined in a thousand years. Wow. I guess you grew into that magnificent nose after all. I bet the city girls are all mad for a dance with a marvel like you. What brings you all the way out - _Farore's sweet song!_ What is _-_ "

"Shh, it's ok," said Rajo, sharpening his Will as the man realized what he carried. "We can make room in the wagon for him while the potion has time to work."

"Oh sure, sure, plenty of room after the last stop," stammered the Beedle, climbing down from the box, though his face had gone deathly pale. "It's just - what did you say happened? I've never seen the boy so shattered. Voh I mean, always been strong as an ox and half as genial - I mean, a little joke, you see. No offense. When you were small, I think I maybe heard a dozen words out of the man in a year."

"I believe it," said Rajo, and meant it. "You have blue elixirs on hand? I'll take red if you don't, but-"

"Oh - I have the blue," said Beedle quickly, throwing back the bolt on the brightly painted wagon's door. "But potion isn't food, my boy. And that arm - no potion will fix that. He needs a proper healer - a Zora doctor if I'm any judge."

"You aren't going anywhere near Zoraland," said Rajo.

"Right you are my boy. Why would I go east? I've been east," said the Beedle, frowning with concern as he dug through his clever little cabinets. "The trouble with potions is they heal _almost_ everything. You get used to carrying around the answer, but then something falls different than you expected, and what do you do?"

Rajo shrugged, waiting for the man to find the right bottles and get out of his way.

"This might be - yes, this is it. May need to spend the rupee on that squid ink after all. I've been carrying this lot so long I can't hardly read my own hand," said the Beedle. "Anyhow. If you've _got_ potions, well, maybe you say _every_ problem is a potion sort of problem, and even if it isn't, you try it anyway, because that's what you've got. The trouble you see, is that potions _in_ _particular_ work so often and so well, that when they don't-"

"Just give me the damn bottle," said Rajo, laying the unconscious man into the floor of the wagon. "You're worried he's going to die and don't want it to be on you. I get it. It's ok."

"But - _look_ at him Jojo," whispered the Beedle.

"You're right," said Rajo, taking the dusty bottle and breaking the wax seal. "Potion _won't_ fix everything. Lucky for him, I'm something of a witch - and witches make any brew work better. But after I'm done, you're going to skip the west circuit and take him with you straight to the farm. Ma Idrea will know what to do from there."

"Oh, my wagon is a wonderful little thing for sure, but I'm not sure we can fit two men and a giant all the way to-"

"Don't worry so much," said Rajo, cutting Link's ruined shirt away. "I won't be riding with you, and you won't miss the profit from a shorter circuit this year. Send to Roan to bring you the old blue chest from the house in Castletown. It holds all you're owed and then some."

"But," said the Beedle, wringing his hands. "What _happened_? How did Voh manage to get _frostbite_ at _midsummer_ in the middle of Hyrule?"

Rajo didn't look up from his work. "There was a demon."

The Beedle stood in silence three times longer than he expected. "And?"

"Go water the horses," said Rajo, slathering costly blue potion on clean white bandage.

The Beedle went.

 _ **\- o - O - o -**_

By late afternoon, everything that could be cleaned or stitched or splinted had been, and Rajo crouched inside the crowded wagon to tuck Link securely into the little box-bed built into the forward wall. The sleep spell held - the man muttered blurry Geldo curses and cryptic fragments from his muffled dreams at times, but didn't truly surface.

Rajo sat beside him for a long while, staring out the wagon door, mind strangely empty. He watched the wispy clouds drift above green hills. Songbirds gossiped as they hunted bugs and seeds at the verge of the road, and in the distance a hawk hunted mice above a millet field. The edge of the wildwood was just barely visible where the thinning trees straggled towards the road. A tidy orchard draped one of the far hills, and time-softened stones reflected the clear summer sunlight.

"Fear no more the lightning flash," said Rajo into the silence, undoing the delicate silver clasp of one heavy topaz earring. "Nor dread the thunderstone - no blade of heaven nor hell may harm thee."

Link did not stir when Rajo laid the pair of bright triangle ornaments in his bandaged left hand.

"Fear not slander, nor censure rash," said Rajo, unwinding the trillion-studded wristlets and pouring his power into the measured formality of ancient high Hylian. "Fear no more the tyrant's stroke."

"Be light of heart," he said, piling his many-stranded necklaces atop the rest.

Untangling the elaborate jeweled clasps and filigree silver chains so he could remove the Geldo-style hair ornament of rich imperial topaz on his own took rather more attention and fuss, but he managed.

"Be bright of eye," he said, nestling the central stone in the middle of the pile.

The heap of silver and shining gems pulled motes of golden afternoon sunlight right into the cramped little wagon. Rajo spun his magic tighter as he watched them shimmer over the clean linens and painted wood.

"The dreadful burden be no longer thine," he murmured, brushing his fingers over the sleeping man's troubled brow.

Link's muffled nightmares still stung, bitter as aconite, but he understood them at last. Piece by piece he removed the exotic enameled snake jewelry Link had made him wear the day they left Castletown. It didn't seem right to mix them with the rest - so he draped them on Link. Their lively knots and green garnet eyes were far more suited to Link's fair complexion anyway, even if the wristlets and pectoral were loose. He suspected they possessed some subtle foreign enchantment. It was a pity he wouldn't be able to study their secrets, but Link's insistence he wear them when they left Castletown was enough evidence to put them to use now.

If nothing else, they were surely worth a great deal of money.

Rajo emptied his pockets onto the tiny counter beside the box bed and stole a hooked pruning knife from the cabinet. The afternoon still shone bright, but a long road grows no shorter for delaying its measure. So Rajo closed his eyes and held his hand over Link's chest to finish the incantation.

"No shadow shall harm thee, nor no witchcraft hereafter charm thee," said Rajo, spinning every bit of his power into the spell, thick and graceless, but shields didn't have to be pretty. They only needed to _work_. "Ghost unlaid forbear thee - nothing ill come near thee. By my will and by my blood, let this my desire bear the might of the oldest gods that no work of man nor magic may break it."

The seal locked into place, flaring bright upon the rough-faceted enchantment, and with a subtle harmonious hum of coiled potential it settled over Link's form as a labyrinthine lacework of golden light.

Rajo withdrew, satisfied in his work, though the beginnings of a punishing headache lanced up through his jaw and made his ear throb with the sudden pressure. He decided not to bother with any green potion though. A little walk in the sunlight should replenish enough of his magic to ensure the charm endured.

The Beedle hailed him as he stepped down from the wagon, offering a share of his mushroom rice cakes. "Turns out to be good fortune you waved us down when you did. Adil had apparently managed to pick up a stone, but we got out before it could work too deep."

"Good," said Rajo. He leaned against the wagon to eat, pleasantly surprised the man's cooking proved to be not only competent but actually delicious. That, or he was famished. Or maybe both. "I'll see what I can do to make her road easier while the bruise heals, and put a little charm on both your girls to guard against any more - these provincial roads aren't in the best repair."

"Sadly true," said the Beedle, pouring plain tea for both of them. "Not that it's a holiday to sink the wheels in mud either, but halfway measures are almost worse than none at all."

Rajo agreed, sharing what he knew of the chancellor's proposals for 'domestic improvements' in the coming decade, and the dour Lord Marshall's opinion of the same.

"Well, which voice do you think he'll prefer? As I've heard it, the High King prefers the counsel of His Own Majesty above anyone," said the Beedle with a disingenuous air.

Rajo shrugged. "Whichever best persuades him their way will strengthen Hyrule. As it should be."

The Beedle raised a brow. "Curious words to hear from the very soul of mischief. All that book learning turn you into a straitlaced royalist, my boy?"

Rajo laughed, nestling his empty tea mug back into the lunch basket. "Pragmatic. Without power behind their commands, Kings are just men in fancy hats."

"Now _that_ is the irreverent Rajenaya I used to know," said the Beedle, draining his own mug. "Hope you're not planning to walk the whole way to the farm in those city boots of yours."

"Hn. I'm not that stupid," said Rajo lightly. "Didn't you pay attention to your wondertales? Why would a witch walk anywhere, when they could fly about on a magic broom?"

"Sure, sure. I could maybe see that for a canny little grandmotherly witch," mused the Beedle, eyeing him critically. "But for a young man as tall as a house?"

Rajo laughed. "Don't worry about me. Anyway, you should be able to make good time tonight even allowing Adil an easy pace."

The Beedle nodded, tucking away the lunch basket and taking up the reins with a hesitant manner. "So," he said.

Rajo offered him a wry grin and slapped the side of the wagon lightly. "Everything will be fine. You'll see."

 _ **-o - O - o -**_

The wind over the chasm circled in gentle whorls, tempering the heat of a muggy summer evening. The sweet fragrance of moonflower and tuberose and wisteria carried across the swaying footbridge, and lush vines draped fetchingly over the anchors and cables, partially veiling the passageway in the steep sandstone cliff on the far side.

A small green-haired child dressed in the colors of the forest stood just above the sloping middle of the bridge, surrounded by a shimmering kaleidoscope of butterflies. One of them seemed to glow with its own soft green light, but then the silver moon would peek through the trees and touch everything with magic.

Ganondorf strode fearlessly down the rough planks, looking neither left nor right. His long red braid hung damp and heavy down his broad back, brushing the top of his riding boots with every step. His plain, dark woolen clothing swallowed the moonlight, giving nothing back.

"You can't come here," said the child.

"Don't fear, little girl," said Ganondorf with a wry grin. He toyed with a small hooked blade in his right hand, golden eyes bright.

"You don't belong here," said the child, stomping her tiny foot on the plank decking and making the whole bridge shiver.

"Hn," said Ganondorf, pausing at the center of the bridge. He pulled his braid over his shoulder and raised the little knife to the nape of his neck. In one sharp motion he sliced through the entire thick plait. "I won't be staying."

The angry child frowned, tilting her head to one side in confusion. She stomped her tiny foot again with a little warning growl, but Ganondorf ignored her. He dropped the knife into the chasm and tied the severed braid to the thick support cable.

The soft call of night birds and courting crickets filled the silence above the empty bridge.


	47. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 1

The night wind stalked the sands, her frigid sting no less deadly for her unhurried pace. The fiercest wild things hid from her ravenous appetite in whatever shelter they could steal. Guardians of every sun-baked fortress in her realm exchanged the day's airy linen raiments for tightly woven twisthorn wool arming suits and vicuña mantles, and still they huddled over braziers whenever they could.

Yet even the wind held her breath when a bolt of many-colored light fell from the moonless heavens. Where it struck, the desolate sands reflected the shriek of steel on stone. Nesting rocs fled the crest of the arroyo in a riot of black-barred wings.

A fell warrior clothed in the searing white of noon strode across the shattered ground, a massive spiraling sword forged of deafening rainbow brilliance clutched in his bloody left hand. He wore masses of jeweled snakes at wrist and throat and waist, and more tiny green-eyed snakes writhed in his colorless hair. In his right fist he carried a short length of braided rope, and his shining boots left sanguine prints as he marched up the arroyo toward the jagged mountain above.

The wind moved not at all.

Halfway up the treacherous sloping climb to the first fissure of thunderstruck stone, the warrior howled a wordless challenge in a voice like falling stones and rampaging waters and the deadly black winds of summer.

The sands gave back his cry, but nothing else answered. He stood before the mountain, glowing silver-white eyes expressionless, his pale face marked with cobalt and carmine and drying blood.

Night pulled a thin veil of clouds over the winking stars and wandering fire, hiding their fragile secrets from the furious warrior. He resumed his advance, indifferent to the broken terrain. Every dozen strides he would call out again, demanding the mountain answer him. Again the desert allowed a hollow echo, but nothing more.

A loose boulder tumbled from its perch. He raised his dread sword, shattering the rock with a single dispassionate blow.

The mountain laughed.

" **I will end you** ," cried the warrior.

"Indeed," rumbled the voice in the mountain. "You may _try_."

" _ **Nothing**_ **defies this blade and lives** ," growled the warrior. " **Stop cowering behind your rock and face me, or I shall bring it down upon your head!** "

"And what of those who bow? What sublime mercy do you afford _them_?" The voice in the mountain seemed to purr its challenge, gray mist feathering out from every crack in the stone.

The warrior roared, charging at the jagged mountain.

The mountain laughed. "Smash away - I was thinking about redecorating in any case. Tea?"

The warrior paused among the shards of another decimated boulder, chest heaving though his pale face betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

"I'll take that as a yes," rumbled the voice. "You will have to do without sugar. Humans seem to be getting lazy about their offerings lately. I shall have to think about exerting myself sometime this year, I suppose."

" **You** _ **will**_ **learn to fear me,** " shouted the warrior, edging closer to the mountain. " _ **Everyone**_ **fears me in the end and the end and the end.** "

"Alas, I think not," said the mist-wreathed mountain without remorse. Tiny electric sparks shimmered in the fissure, and the jagged thunderstruck stone peeled back, revealing a small slice of the cavernous shrine within. "Your mask may fool lesser creatures, but I know your true face. No matter what strength you bring to bear, I will remain."

The shining warrior growled, stalking towards the hidden shrine. " **Every horrible thing that has become is** _ **your fault**_ **.** "

"Whatever," said the voice from the shrine inside the black mist inside the shrine inside the mountain. A vast taloned hand stretched out from the mist, beckoning the warrior closer. "Your emotions do _fascinate_ me. The old stick did you a great disservice, you know, holding you in isolation all those years."

The warrior canted his sword to guard, stepping warily inside the flint-studded shrine. " **What do** _ **you**_ **know about anything, heartless demon?** _ **None**_ **of this disaster would have ever become in the first time if you hadn't seduced the King-** "

"Pffah. Even if I _were_ the catalyst, I'll happily tangle up with her every time you play your little songs. _Unf_ ," said the demon, waving back some of his sparking mist as a fine lady might draw aside her curtains. " _Completely_ worth it."

Framed by his magic and his shimmering wings draped so lazily about, his colossal body filled the better half of the little shrine where he made his lair. The warrior's light showed the demon's skin to be the color of old olive leaves, his wild hair the blinding yellow-green of highland lightning. Although his torso resembled that of a man, his head was a strange melding of man and desert hound. Below the waist his flesh divided into eight snakelike limbs with delicate scales in every color of darkness, coiled in elegant knots in his nest of cushions and stormcloud.

" **Disgusting, wicked** _ **thing**_ **,** " said the warrior, recoiling. " **How can you doom the whole world to flame and chaos for a-** "

"A most _excellent_ affair? Easily," said the demon, leaning back on his bright cushions, a steaming amphorae cradled in his massive hands. With one dexterous scaled limb he poured boiling water from a golden pot over a heap of red leaves in a golden basket balanced over a bright oasis-glazed teapot. "Except for the troubling little difficulty that the mortal crisis is both inevitable and has nothing whatever to do with _me_. You mortals feel things so _passionately_ , so _intently_ , and she is a notably magnificent example. Almost as delicious as you, little hero."

The warrior-hero drew back with a cry of disgust. " **I won't let it happen again - I won't! This is all your fault - but** _ **I**_ **will unmake your evil. Rise, and fight me-!** "

"Mmmno," purred the demon, yellow-green eyes thinning to amused crescents above his gently curving muzzle. "In any other era I would be surprised the sage of time does not possess a more nuanced understanding of _consequence_ , but your foolish tree-spirit never has understood mortals. Burying you well away from your world with only lesser forest children for company - pfah. Trickster sprites every one of them, with not the slightest idea what a human child _is_ let alone what he might _need_. It is well for both of you that the good people of the farm-"

" **But - it is all unraveled in this time. I know it is. How do you even know about them?** " The warrior-hero-child lowered his fell sword.

"As I said - mortals entertain me. And I have a particular interest in the fates of my own children," said the demon. "We spirits do _have_ hearts - they are merely different from your fragile, quicksilver ones. Your tea is ready."

" **I don't want** _ **tea**_ ," cried the warrior, holding forth the loop of red plaited rope. " **I want to fix** _ **this**_ **. Once he is seeded he brings disaster to everyone, even when he is not born. So I will not let you-!** "

"You can either restore, or destroy. Not both," said the demon with a click of his tongue. "I should think even you could learn that."

The warrior lowered the rope to his side. " **You said children.** "

"So I did," agreed the demon cordially, sipping his amphorae of tea. "I _like_ mortals. Especially strong, clever, _brave_ ones. Great good fun. And when they inevitably break, there's always another one."

The warrior roared in fury and revulsion.

The demon laughed. "Oh but you are _precious_. You could always stay with _me_ this time around. I could teach you many _wondrous_ things, and I can promise you won't mind paying a sweet little price on occasion once you've gotten a taste of what _I_ can do."

" **Never** ," said the warrior, raising his spiral blade.

"Suit yourself," said the demon with a shrug. "This much I'll give you for free, because it amuses me to do it. Your dear little mortal princess does carry the potential to look upon the branching fates as my kind does - but only briefly, and only in the way of dreams. She is no more infallible than you."

" **Then - if you can see all the tomorrows,** " said the warrior slowly, looking at the rope in his right fist. " **Then I will spare you on one condition, demon. Tell me which is the right one. Tell me which branch will make it right in the end.** "

"That is neither my province nor yours," chided the demon. "The way you travel most wears the road most deeply, that is all."

" **But - the storm,"** said the warrior, cracks surfacing in his terrible voice. " **So many lost.** _ **Seven years**_ **of disaster.** "

"Seven years when the power protecting your kind from the ravages of wild spirits and the scars of the gods' wars was broken and scattered," returned the demon. " _You_ were stolen from the world entirely to hurry you into a more powerful body, and Hylia's descendent locked her wisdom away in a cage of fear and hate and left her country to live or die as it would without her. Power without balance was enough to keep Hyrule from shivering to pieces completely, but your triforce has been used too often and too carelessly for human life to continue long without it. The very power which liberated your fragile lives from divine wars is now woven into the very foundations of your world, tangled irrevocably with the blood and greed of your ancestors. You will never repair it all, little hero."

" **Watch me,** " said the warrior.


	48. Sorrows Come Not : 2 :T-14

A young roc muttered to his sleeping mate, keeping one red eye on the little groundling below. It had emerged from the shadows below his nest without any warning at all, cawing rudely. It skreeked and clicked and growled to itself, rabid and stumbling. It didn't look toward the rocs' nest, or raise shining pain-sticks into the air, but groundlings were never to be trusted.

The wind wasn't good - thin with twilight, and going the wrong way to make a dive easy. This whole winter had been one of bad winds and crackling green storms.

But this one wayward groundling wandering abroad at twilight was small.

And injured.

Winter was a time of poor hunting.

The roc chirred to his mate in an undertone, nudging her awake. She complained, pecking at his head until he persuaded her to look down.

Her beak parted in anticipation.

The roc dropped from his branch, wings folded, feeling the wind for the right moment to snap his wings and bank toward his prey. Too soon, and it might hear him in time to ready pain-sticks or hide under one of the empty groundling structures at the edge of the next box canyon.

Too late, and his least favorite clutchmate nesting on that side might catch it first.

The wind shifted at the most perfect moment. He wanted to crow over the beauty of his perfect swoop and first debilitating strike. The groundling fell under his fisted talons with a rasping cry. The roc banked sharply, descending with his talons open for the kill.

He neither saw nor felt the lightning which ended him.


	49. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 3

Rajo stumbled on the last of the Dragon Stairs, but at least the climb was over. They ached from toe to crown, inside and out. The night wind picked up her pace, howling in warning and triumph as she so often did this winter. Rajo hauled themselves back to their tired feet again, leaning shamefully against the warm stone wall for balance.

Their left leg still didn't want to work quite right, and their shoe pinched terribly. Probably from swelling - but a dose of the leftover stolen red potion should fix that. It hadn't fixed anything important, but at least it would be good for _something_.

The amber crystals in their secret cave woke in greeting, flickering and pulsing as their light increased. A wayward spider scuttled away into a crack between carvings on the gray-green walls, but aside from its half-finished web, everything remained exactly as they'd left it a week before. The second batch of useless pickled stinkhorn manashroom still sat in neat rows beside their makeshift table of broken target board and stolen bricks.

Well. Maybe not _useless_ , but still an abysmal failure. _Nothing_ lifted the cursed red cough.

Rajo drank off the bitter healing potion at once, clenching their jaw as their heart raced and heat bloomed under their bruised ribs. That was good. Red potion stirred heat when it was working. It would have been hard to run the spirit roads into the sands if they were still laboring to breathe.

That thought brought them dangerous memories of Angnu, who would never run the spirit roads. The red cough fell over everyone in the fortress but Rajo, stealing hundreds of ilmaha and dozens each of warriors and weavers and smiths and servants. Even the Rova blamed them for the plague, adding nine more lashes to the healers' sentence.

They should know better. Of all the avadha of the desert, the _Rova_ should have known they were telling the truth. Or rather - they should have _cared_ that it wasn't true. They _had_ to _know_. They'd punished Rajo all season for a constant failures in their lessons. Rajo hadn't been able to cast even the smallest cantrip inside the walls in weeks, and no conjuration, enchantment, nor ward all winter without touching the demon gem.

And why would they ever hurt Angnu? Angnu was good at being who they were expected to be. They had always been kind, and honest, and kept their promises.

Except their last one.

 _No - stay. I'm still listening, I promise. It's just my eyes are tired from coughing so much. Tell me what happened next. Did Tevi solve the equation first, or did Mae?_

Rajo howled their frustration at the cave, refusing to even look upon the taunting, distant beauty of the wandering fire dancing its mysterious patterns above the great glass eye in the ceiling.

" **Why this** _ **one**_ ," answered a voice like the black wind. " **Why do you care about this** _ **one**_ **when there are a hundred thousand million other people who will suffer?** "

Rajo drew their shortblade, turning wildly, looking for the voice. A blue sort of glitter seemed to fill the narrow fissure leading out to the Dragon Stair, but otherwise, they were alone.

"Why should I care more about strangers than my friend?" Rajo asked the blue light.

" **Ah** ," said the terrible voice from the light. " **So that is the seat of your anger after all. The loss of a friend.** "

"I don't have _friends_ ," said Rajo, letting their anger call sparks to dance around them and sizzle along their little blade, eager to be given a target. "If you were any kind of spirit worth anything, you would know that - _and_ you would know better than to cross the Rovas' apprentice."

" **I know more than you could ever imagine,** " said the voice in the blue light as it stretched and twisted and made Rajo sick. " **Except the answer to this riddle, which only the child of prophecy can answer. Why does the King of Evil weep?** "

"That's a stupid riddle," said Rajo between dry heaves. One thin advantage to going hungry in atonement for stealing from the storehouse. Not that the candied fruit and King's Honey had done Angnu any good anyway. The wandering fire started to skitter away again, and they couldn't find the focus to draw it back under control yet. "Not much of a king if he's weak enough to get caught crying."

" **Even so, it is a rock which disturbs the river of Time,** " said the terrible noon-bright spirit from the blue light. " **You break the rules. You do bad things. Terrible things. Yet you weep for this one insignificant soul returned to the gods young. You aid a stranger. You spare an enemy. And still you embrace the darkness.** _ **Why**_ **?** "

"Maybe I _like_ the darkness," said Rajo, wiping the bitterness of bile from their lips. At least it was only a little, and the red potion had already absorbed into their flesh. "The shadows like _me_ just fine. And I have _magic_ , and _don't_ think you can scare me just because your stupid blue spell made me throw up. I _will have_ the secrets of the stars and the reins of the wind and the power of a _god_ , just you watch."

" **Already you are willing to destroy the world in a fit of rage** ," said the bright warrior spirit, looming in the middle of the square cave. His armor shone painfully, and the spiral ricasso of the rainbow sword peeking over his shoulder screamed like discordant bells. A strange blue rune marked his perfect brow, and red war paint defined the arch of his smooth cheeks. The only thing about him that wasn't made of light and noise was the strange little coil of red plaited rope hanging from his silver belt. " **But** **I know someone who will be your friend, even so**."

Rajo frowned, letting their other hand drop away from the hilt of their little knife. It wouldn't do much good against a normal grownup with a sword. What use could it be against a magical one? "I've never heard of a spirit like you."

" **There** _ **is**_ **no other spirit like me,** " said the warrior spirit, his expressionless eyes glowing with a steady white light.

"Who _are_ you? _What_ are you? Where did you come from? How do you know me?" Rajo demanded.

" **I was a hero once, in a long ago tomorrow,** " said the warrior, lowering his voice so the cave only shivered a little bit. " **I have known your spirit through a hundred hundred lives. I dance the sun, and I dance the moon, and I am always with you, until it is right in the end and the end and the end."**

"You have a strange way of speaking," said Rajo, crossing their arms on their chest. However powerful a spirit he was, they would not allow him to think he held any power over _them_. They knew the old laws, and they had found riddles in the ancient texts which promised to lead to the resting places of great powers sealed against immortal hands. "You take a Hylian shape, but speak the words of the People with a strange accent. Why? And what is your sword made of that makes it so loud?"

" **It** **is forged from the tears and the dreams of a thousand thousand lives who balance on its edge** ," said the warrior, drawing the terrible blade with the screech of a hungry gibdo. He held it in guard, and wove it slowly through the air in the first pattern of the sword-courts, making the strange rainbow metal ring.

"But the edge isn't even straight," said Rajo. "How can anything balance on it?

" **That riddle, child of prophecy, is yet another reason why I have come for you,** " said the warrior, returning his awful blade to its place upon his back.

"Well you're too late. I'm busy," said Rajo, turning their back and pulling the battered chest out from its hiding place under a pile of carefully balanced stolen trash. Whatever the crazy spirit wanted didn't matter. They needed to have everything ready before dawn.

" **Those provisions will carry you no farther than the third flag in the sand sea,** " said the warrior. " **Down that road lies a terrible fate - choose it freely, and I cannot protect you.** "

"I don't need _help_ from you or anyone," snapped Rajo over their shoulder, adding another packet of warrior's rations to their satchel. "I can find my Name on my own."

" **The only Name that waits for you there is the one your mothers chose for you,** " said the warrior, planting himself in front of the fissure that led back to the Dragon Stairs. " **Angnu's death is but** _ **one drop**_ **in the ocean of tears which flow from the hands of** _ **Ganondorf**_ **. The miasma of death over the fortress grows with every wicked, selfish, hateful act you let them drive you towards. You've been marked for a terrible fate - but** _ **I**_ **can change that.** "

"You're lying," said Rajo, refusing to acknowledge the ice crawling into their empty stomach.

" **Take my hand and know the truth for yourself,** " said the warrior, extending his left hand. His shining white gloves with sparkling steel plates sewn onto them proved on closer inspection to be terribly bloodstained under all that light. " **That Name carved into your heart marks you as a vessel for the evil they serve. From the day you were born they have shaped you towards that design.** "

"Then maybe you should have come sooner," said Rajo, settling the satchel across their body. They tried not to look at the warrior's outstretched hand, but studied his strange bright armor instead, made of shining plates marked with hidden runes.

" **I tried,** " said the warrior, and all the sorrow of the defeated filled his terrible voice. " **But I can only move the heavens. Choose to walk in the light, and I will change your stars. Embrace hatred instead, and the power you covet will destroy you.** "

"No it won't," said Rajo, balling their hands into fists. "I already _have_ more power than any other ilmaha ever has, and the spirit trials are _my_ birthright. I will conquer them earlier than anyone and become the greatest Rova ever known - and then! I will ride the very wind into Hyrule and steal away their magic princess for myself and then everyone will bow to _me_."

" **And in this dream, you believe no one will ever hurt you again, because you will be the strongest,** " said the warrior spirit, sinking down to one knee, his arms open. " **I know a place where you don't have to be a monster to be safe. Where you can live in the Light forever, away from the small-minded hatred of cowards and the blasphemy of the ignorant.** "

"Why should I believe you?" Rajo demanded.

" **Come with me** ," said the kneeling warrior spirit. " **See for yourself how the temple has been desecrated, the Trials corrupted.** "

"And then-?" Rajo asked.

" **And then I will take you to meet a new friend** ," said the warrior spirit with a terrifying smile.


	50. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 4

Frigid gray-cloaked dawn hounded them all the way to the haunted crags of Ikana. The cries of the forgotten and the damned gnawed on their long shadows, and the shrieking fury of the night wind devoured their footprints as if the marks of their passing could ever make up for prey denied her.

The shining warrior strode along the edge of the ancient canyon, his bright pupilless eyes turning neither left nor right as he carried his ancient enemy away to lands foreign to them both. The severed braid dragged heavy from his belt, and the discordant hum of the rainbow sword on his back made wild creatures cower and flee before them.

Neither spoke until the sun rose above the temple spires at their backs - but no one could have looked on the red-haired child riding the shoulder of a demigod and failed to mark the sucking riptide of terrible purpose which bound them together.

" **There - the city at the end of the world** ," said the warrior in a voice like the rending earth, gesturing toward the shadowed western lowland below. " **Here where four provinces meet under the great waterclock, where the tomorrow-moon dances, where every language that was ever heard is still spoken in the marketplace, it is at this crossroad you will find your new friend.** "

"Well it looks stupid. Where are the watchtowers? Where are the guard supposed to even patrol? _Anybody_ could scale those stubby little walls and no one would know until it was over," said the child, hunching his shoulders under the sand-and-mud-colored mantle.

" **The walls are stronger than you think, and the gates more stout.** " The warrior shook his head. " **The Terminan Republic remains neutral in the Wars, and the guardian spirits of these lands are strong. The fields can be dangerous but-** "

The child made a rude noise. "Everywhere is dangerous, according to _you_."

" **I say it because it is true, child of prophecy. Evil calls to evil,** " said the warrior, his shining eyes fixed on the painted walls of the city below. " **But there is a secret passage under this city, where the river of time flows through the blades of the great clock. The one who will be your friend holds the key to the river - follow it together to the place where the Orb of Light rests upon the bones of the Leviathan.** "

"If the Orb is so strong, why didn't you just-" began the child.

" **Neither god nor demon nor spirit may wield its power,** " said the warrior, bowing his head. " **You alone can make the choice to live in the Light - or not.** "

"Oh," said the child.


	51. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 5

On the first night he discovered he could walk the twilight roads, Ganondorf learned what it was to be truly cold. In a desert winter, the night wind sunk her talons deeper than even Kotake's icy rebukes. He made a habit of changing to sturdy, dense woolens every night thereafter, and stole extra blankets and mantles to hide in his favorite lairs. Just in case.

The underground canal linking the observatory to the Clocktown water supply taught him how little he understood of how bitter cold can be. By the time he stumbled into the thin winter sun once more, he was soaked from toe to crown, his jaw ached from clenching his teeth so hard against the shivering, and his chest hurt from the inside out.

Then the snow began.

Ganondorf stood in the plaza, hurling every obscenity he knew at the sky. He reached for his magic, despite the fierce spirit's warning. Nothing answered him, and the snow continued to fall. A few townspeople snickered in his general direction, but otherwise they ignored him.

Even the _guards_ ignored him.

No warrior of the People would have let an ilmaha his age throw a fit in public unless they were bleeding all over. But he wasn't ilmaha anymore. He'd seen the demonkin and the gibdo and the tormented patchwork guardians and the mindless puppets the Rova made, and he could never unsee any of it. He could never go home now. Ganondorf ran out of insults to hurl at the gods, and sat down on the curb to rest and feel sorry for himself.

A soft-spoken woman in a long blue skirt stopped to say something incomprehensible to him, and made him take a yellow rupee. She pointed to one of the shops lining the plaza, smiled at him, and was gone.

Ganondorf thought about throwing the rupee away - but what if the person with the key to the clock tower wanted money for it? The fierce spirit hadn't said much about how to find this stranger, or even what they might be like. Clocktown wasn't exactly a small settlement.

A fat man in green dropped a fistful of green rupee in his lap, and told him in a wretched accent to go eat something.

Ganondorf snarled at his back, furious that these nobody foreigners thought he needed their charity. Him! The Rova's greatest apprentice. Son of the best thieves in the world. Cursed to become the most wicked of kings, unless he managed - somehow! - to beg aid from a foreign stranger and find the Orb of Light and change his stars.

Maybe he could just _buy_ the stranger's help. Then he wouldn't have to try and be friends with them. But what price might they put on a magic key? He didn't have much money in his satchel - what use rupee in the sand sea? He'd packed a little in his secret stash mostly on the chance of needing to bargain with a clever poe, and to hide it from the Rova.

The vicuña mantle turned stiff and itchy with ice the longer he sat in the open, and loose strands of hair started to freeze to the back of his neck. Ganondorf wanted nothing more than to strip off his gross clothes and crawl into the shadows forever.

But then his mothers would win.

So he hauled himself back to his feet, and stumbled across the plaza to the shop the woman pointed out. The owner spoke tolerable Hylian, and happily sold him a fat mug of hot apple cider for the scandalous price of five pathetic rupee. He gave away directions to the Stockpot Inn for free.

Ganondorf wandered fruitlessly for an hour, but a pink-faced child in a sweater many sizes too large offered to show him the way for two rupee and five naughty words. The child argued with the innkeeper for him when she said a room cost twenty rupee, and even insisted she throw in a bowl of soup and let him sit in the kitchen until his clothes dried out.

He in turn promised to teach the child and all their friends more bad words in the morning, if they would show him the city.

He gave the innkeeper the yellow rupee and the deadname Rajolaan. Just in case.


	52. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 6

Link paced under the leafless trees in the north-quarter park until he trod the snow into mud. He altered his heading, trampling fresh powder into slush, into mud, and still Rajo did not appear.

Even with the power of a dead god filling his skin, he'd wanted a drink. Or ten.

Without the magic of _that mask_ buzzing through bone and sinew, without the comforting weight of _that sword_ on his back, without the immediacy of mundane work to fill his hands, his mind, his endless hours, he couldn't hold back the crushing weight of failure alone.

Drink would help.

A little.

But the only places to _get_ strong drink in clocktown wouldn't open for hours yet. The park held no one else but the harmless mad son of the map-maker. He had the ocarina in his pocket. A moment - a blink - he could dance through the river and into the body of a hero. Another little dance with the sun and the bars would sell him anything he wanted.

But what if Rajo came while he was away, dancing?

He stopped in the middle of his looping mud-tracks, staring hard at each gate in turn. None of them brought Rajo.

Link combed his fingers through his short hair, glaring at the mostly-empty park, and the wretched sword-flower pattern he'd stained it with. However far he travelled, his shadow always followed him.


	53. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 7

Rumor spread swiftly among the children of Clocktown. By the second full afternoon, Ganondorf collected more rupee than his satchel would even hold at once, and established profitable little contracts with a half dozen human shop owners to run small errands for them.

He had not acquired the slightest hint of anyone who might hold the key he sought.

Then again, the fierce spirit only said the stranger would be at the crossroad under the shadow of the clock tower. He hadn't said anything about _when_ the stranger might appear. If in fact spirits understood mortal time at all.

So he exchanged small rupee for larger, and sold his desert clothing to the rag-and-bone man in exchange for a cloak and hood and tall boots made of white wolfos skins. He bought pale gray trousers made in the local fashion, and a set of high-collared linen shirts and heavy socks knit with blue stripes.

Ganondorf tried not to care when the townspeople thought him avadha. They didn't know any better, and his command of the common Terminan language wasn't yet good enough to explain their ignorance to them, even if he wanted to. Which he didn't.

At least the local humans didn't care where he came from. Every Zora and Hylian traveler who saw his face uncovered snarled and cursed his sisters with the foulest language he'd ever heard, and he'd overlistened Nabooru drink majir with the other avadha Saiev a hundred times at least. And if a Zora caught him in the street, without any town guard around? Ganondorf counted himself lucky if they only threw rocks.

 _Evil calls to evil_ , he reminded himself, and took greater care to bind his fraying braids more tightly and pull his hood forward whenever he went out.

He gambled forty rupee at the shooting gallery on the fourth day and exchanged his winnings for bleached doeskin gloves and a long white sheepskin vest. Both had the same blood-red and night-blue flowers stitched around the edges and neat columns of polished white bone buttons. The tailor made fun of his snowkin fashion sense, but she took his rupee happily enough. She even sent word through the children's rumor mill on the sixth day when her brother returned from trade circuit with a whole basket of fine lace scarves and shawls knit in silk and downy cashmere.

Ganondorf gave the tailor fifty rupee to hold aside a kitten-soft scarf with candle-flame edging and the absolute best of the ornate shawls for him.

He washed dishes for the inn and the tavern next door for a week. His back ached from bending over the sinks, and he had fresh bruises from falling off the overturned box he had to stand on to reach. He drained most of his account at the clock tower bank to pay the tailor. The rest went for a couple of old books and a bottle of spice-infused oil to soothe his chapped and blistered hands - but he gambled his last twenty rupee at the shooting gallery and won just enough to keep his room at the inn another hand of days.

And still, the other children brought him no rumors of any key-holder, or any restless spirit. As far as they understood, he was the only strange thing to happen in Clocktown since forever.

 _They aren't wrong_ , he told himself as he climbed toward the old fairy shrine a few days before solstice. _It's better they never guess just how strange their world could become if the gods decided to notice where the king of demons has stolen away._

Ganondorf sat in a shadowed corner of the frozen shrine for hours, waiting for something, anything to happen. Or at least something more interesting than a gaggle of fashionable Terminan avadha leaving offerings of flowers and fruit and folded paper frippery. If any of that was supposed to please the local spirit, he saw no sign of it.

He left a jar of honey-glazed spiced apples anyway. Just in case.

On the way back across the city, he crossed paths with some of the older boys wearing handmade fox masks. They tripped him when no one was looking, and then pretended to help him up from his 'clumsy accident'. They stole his shortblade and tried to steal his satchel, but one of the town guard came around the corner and they went back to pretending to be friends.

The innkeeper's daughter gave him a white and red fox mask of his own for solstice. She was nice. Like Angnu. So Ganondorf pretended to be happy about her gift, and gave her the last packet of honeycakes from home.


	54. Sorrows Come Not : 8 : T-13

The snow fell heavy and wet on solstice eve, draping the city in a perfect white blanket. Morning came with languid gray mist that refused to lift before noon. Street vendors brought out their most festive wares, and the people of Clocktown left their homes to indulge themselves in everything spiced, roasted, fermented, or otherwise exotic.

Link circled the city for the thousandth time, asking each and every guard if _today_ , finally today, _one_ of them might have seen a red-haired Gerudo child. Or anything else strange. Monsters. Ghosts. Any ominous sign at all.

Nothing.

He couldn't even be certain Rajo lived. Not here. Beyond the borders of Hyrule, the influence of the Golden Gods diminished immensely. In Termina, the health of the local spirits mattered more than the distant magic of the Triforce - and why would any of _them_ care if the axis mundi slid a little out of balance? It could be decades - maybe centuries - before most _people_ living at the edges of civilization would be affected by the loss of Power.

The spirits would know sooner - and demonkind almost at once - but he couldn't yet bring himself to leave the city to ask.

The fairy of Clocktown couldn't help him. Not that she didn't try - it was only she heard so _much_ gossip, and saw so _many_ people, she could barely mark any one _individual_ mortal apart from the rest. Worse, the tomorrows of the falling moon shattered her so badly she'd lost much of her power - and her grasp of mortal time.

Link crossed the river of time just long enough to retrieve a mask. Not _that_ mask. Not yet. Just the relatively minor horribleness of a magic that revealed the ugly truths other people locked behind their teeth.

He found part of Rajo's enveloping mantle on the shoulders of a maid. He traced the rest to a tiny shop at the edge of town, remade into three more little shawls.

The seamstress confessed to cheating the rag-and-bone man out of a fair price for the exotic cloth.

Link craved the comfort of a stiff drink even more desperately after hearing the confessions of the rag-and-bone man.

Six thieves later, a guard told the mask he'd confiscated a curved knife from a brown-haired boy wearing a fox mask.

Link stood in the snow in a sea of festival foxes and wept.


	55. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 9

Solstice festivities filled every corner of the city with light and noise and people. Every kind of folk who ever traveled to the ends of the world poured into Clocktown to celebrate the longest night of the year. They sang and danced inside and out wearing painted paper masks and spending terrifying amounts of money.

Ganondorf leaned against the terrace railing, watching the surge of the crowd below as the inkeeper's mother blathered at him. Again.

"It's an absolute _scandal_ ," she repeated, clicking her tongue and shrugging her cableknit shawl higher. " _Any_ nine year old child traveling alone is bad enough, but a poor little pirate-born girl like you? Without even a sister for company? Working at that disreputable tavern for _money_ instead of attending a proper school and celebrating the winter festival with your family? It shouldn't be allowed."

Ganondorf rolled his eyes. "I told you, I'm _fine_. I don't care about the stupid parties anyway. They're loud and vulgar and messy and I hate them."

"And that tavern isn't? Come now, you mustn't be so _stubborn_. My daughter may not be - she doesn't have a warm manner, like my dear granddaughter. But she has a good heart," said the old woman.

"So _good_ she would charge a _child_ double," returned Ganondorf. "I only keep staying here because it's close to the damn clock."

"Watch your language missy, or I will wash out that filthy tongue myself. What would your mother think of your bad attitude? I am _trying_ to help you," said the old woman, clicking her tongue in censure.

"I don't need _help_ ," grumbled Ganondorf. "And I don't need _school_ or _family_ or _parties_ or _sweets_ or any other stupid thing. As soon as I find that _damn_ key-"

"Ah-HA! I knew you were after _something_ when you started sneaking out after curfew," crowed the old woman, shaking her finger at him. "Did that riff-raff from the western quarter get you tangled up in one of their pranks? They're getting worse every year - and the guard will catch them at it soon enough and then _they'll_ wish they'd listened to old ladies. Just because you're pirate-born doesn't mean you have to follow those wicked ways. You live in a _civilized_ country now."

"Whatever," said Ganondorf, pulling his gloves back on. "I've got stuff to do."

"It better not be stealing somebody's keys for those no-good vagrants," said the old woman with a disdainful sniff.

Ganondorf shrugged and dropped his fox mask back into place. "Everything has a price."

The old woman sighed. "It's not right, you gallivanting about town all by yourself without anyone looking after your safety, your future-"

"I _don't_ need looking after," growled Ganondorf, securing his hood with a bent brass hat pin. "Mind your own threads and I'll do the worrying about mine."

He ignored her sputtering objections and vaulted the railing to catch the laundry line strung between buildings and leap onto the roof of the shop next door. He scrambled up the slope on all fours, crunching through the rime to sink his fingers into the heavy thatch. When he reached the peak, he ran down the roofbeam and scaled the chimney to collect the chimneysweep's abandoned broom. He used the sturdy ash handle to vault towards the rough quadratum stone of the next building where he could climb to one of the balconies the townspeople strung festival banners from.

All of which would have been ten times faster and a hundred times easier if he just took the shadowroad from the first. But then the innkeeper's mother would know him for a sorcerer, and what would she do then? Would she petition the mayor to drive him out of town? Or to lock him up? How would he ever reach the Orb of Light if that happened?

"Anyway, if I summon shadows _now_ ," Ganondorf hissed to himself, straining to reach a fresh handhold. "The demons will _know_."

The infernal noise of revelry and tuneless song followed him through the entire punishing climb. In summer, it would have been easier. Terminan architects favored textural follies and trimming out each level of a building to show off their cleverness. But he dared not trust his weight to the larger protrusions - they all caught drifts of snow, and where snow could stick, so could ice.

He waited on the balcony a long time, judging the distance and the rope and the crowd. When each breath no longer hurt, he couldn't justify further lingering. So he wound the banner ropes around his fists and leapt.

No one at the festival was looking up, so his first perfect execution of aerial master's hip-twist challenge went entirely unnoticed. He sprawled in the far balcony, heart racing, rope and bunting tangled around every limb. One length might be enough to reach the top of the city walls, but every moment wasted in gathering up and belaying out again to drop down the other side was another opportunity for the guard to catch him doing it.

"Three lengths would be safer," he mumbled to no one in particular. "At least the second bit is just a straight run down the eave."

In the end though, the bunting along the eaves and gutters proved too old and weak to serve him, and so his second theft of the night required a repeat of the first aerial trick. It did not go quite so well, and he made the last six yards by way of a graceless pinch climb. Bruised and frustrated, he rearranged the ropes into a more comfortable cross harness and decided to scout the rooftops for an easier third coil.

He never found one - he slipped on a bit of black ice and then? The ridge tile he grasped to recover his balance snapped off at the base, sending him tumbling down the wrong side of the slope. He just barely caught the gutter in time to save himself a four-storey drop, at the expense of his gloves and possibly his left shoulder. Muscle and tendon popped with excruciating resonance, but somehow he managed to haul himself back up onto the edge of the roof without giving in to the temptation to call his magic.

It was as he lay half in the lead gutter and half on the slate roof, trying not to think about what almost happened, that Ganondorf noticed the glitter of blue magic below. A faint thing - more of a dim reflection than an actual glow. Yet - it shone the exact same color as the magic that brought the warrior-spirit to his secret cave above the dragon stairs.

"Balls," he swore under his breath, and gathered his will to rise.

Sticky, greasy shadows filled the alley below. Ganondorf crept along the edge of the roof - more cautious now, and quiet - baring his teeth under the mask at the stink of kitchens infrequently cleaned and trash lumped into the narrow nowhere-space between buildings to be forgotten. Somewhere in all that mess, the blue magic coiled, waiting for him to find it.

Ganondorf looped rope around the downspout and anchored himself against it with his good arm, attention divided between the revolting blue magic and the pull of the ground beneath him. The wind picked up as he descended, and shards of moonlight snuck through the clouds. He couldn't quite reach any friendly ledge to get out of the wretched, revealing light, so he flipped a few coils over his shoulder and pushed off into a stone drop.

Someone in the alley below groaned and cursed - something about foxes - and shortly after came the noise of some wretched box or firkin meeting its destruction. The shimmer of the blue magic vanished - but Ganondorf felt its resonance even as he forced himself to a sudden stop just above the frozen cistern.

Another curse - this one blasphemous - and then nothing but the distant buzz of revelry. He eased down onto the ice, searching the shadows in the depths of the alley. The voice _might_ have come from inside one of the buildings - muffled by kitchen shutters or carried into the alley by iron stove pipes. It _might_ have nothing to do with the traces of the weird blue magic.

Ganondorf crept around splintered boxes, feeling like every step drew him across swaying cable instead of solid ground. He followed that discomfort between piles of broken barrels and empty crates through the deepest, coldest shadows, around a tight corner where the alley ended abruptly at a rotten, moss-coated door.

Wary of a trap, he scaled the wall instead. Beyond lay only an overgrown wreck of a tiny charred and icebound garden, behind a charred and crumbling little house. Stumbling tracks through the dappled snow led his eye to the foot of a lightning-struck oak tree, and a ragged satchel spilling its guts across the snow. Empty bottles, a shriveled apple, a handful of smooth stones and bright rupee, worn books with frayed pages hanging out.

But.

The slender Hylian boy kneeling in the middle of so much trash wore a tunic of Sun's Heart purple, and the mask pushed up into his wheat-gold hair bore the stamp of Sheikah magic.

Ganondorf again cursed the boy who stole his shortblade, and jumped down from the wall.

The Hylian boy cried out, and toppled sideways when he tried to rise. His pale face was blotchy pink, his cold blue eyes wild and unfocused. Yet he tried to draw his little sword even so. A common Hylian style of sword: slightly leaf-bladed, double-edged, with a rounded crossguard and plain acorn pommel. A simple slashing weapon that demanded very little skill to be of service to its bearer.

"Hey," said Ganondorf, stomping through the snow and trying to look tall. Sharp, confusing fumes seeped under his mask as he drew closer to the boy - but he couldn't possibly be smelling King's Tears. Not here. Surely. "You stupid or what? I _could_ call the guard on you, trespasser."

"What? No - you're the one who - who shouldn't be here," yelled the boy, struggling to his feet again. "Thieving meddling fox - _give it back_!"


	56. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 10

The white fox stalked closer, undaunted by his blade. It tilted its blood-streaked muzzle first one way, and then the other, studying him before it attacked. It cast heavy shadows in the moonlight and sank in the snow, so it wasn't a spirit - under all that fur it _must_ be mortal.

Link cursed the moon, the gods, and the uneven ground, and charged at the mocking white fox.

"I don't have whatever it is you lost," said the white fox with its blurry, childlike voice.

Link overcorrected for the missed strike and promptly fell. His stomach threatened mutiny at once, and his vision blurred as he pulled himself upright.

The white fox snorted at him, circling to his shield side. "The hell is wrong with you? Besides being Hylian I mean."

"What do you even know about anything? Hyrule is - is the center of the damn _world_. Ignorant provincial _nobody_ ," spat Link, lunging at the white fox again. "One of you cowards has it - you motherless thieving - stop _moving_ and answer me!"

"You - you're _drunk_ ," said the white fox, circling with dangerous grace. "How did you get anyone in this godsforgotten city to sell you that stuff?"

"I am _not_ ," said Link, though the lie pricked his skin fearsomely. He brought his sword up again, telling his stomach firmly to steady itself. It shouldn't be like this - it wasn't last time. He must have miscounted bottles or - something. Maybe one got contaminated, or maybe he should have waited a little longer before dancing back to his own body. "Anyway it's not your business. Get out! Leave me alone!"

"I say it _is_ \- you're not much taller than me but they let _you_ have a sword _and_ spirits? Why? What's special about a moon-faced weakling like you? And where'd you get Sheikah magic from? That whole cursed tribe has been chained to the Hylian tyrants basically forever," said the white fox, folding its arms across its chest.

"Then how do you know what Sheikah magic even looks like? If you're not here to give his knife back, then just _get out_ ," said Link. He took another swing at the white fox - but this time, it knocked the blade from his hand and grabbed his tunic.

"Don't be _stupid_ ," said the white fox in Rajo's sardonic voice, shoving him into a snowbank.

He wanted it to be true so badly he thought his heart might wring itself dry.

He _didn't_ want it to be true - how could he bear it? Losing him to the darkness again, already? To some petty, cruel fox demon?

Link wept and retched in the snow, regretting the caustic burn of whatever had been in the last bottle he drank. He wished again that _all_ of it could just unhappen like Zelda promised him it would. _Especially_ the bits after the demon claimed the corpse of the Gerudo king. _Definitely_ the part where she confessed she tried to seize the triforce for herself. _Absolutely_ the part where a stupid prophecy came into his life and ruined everything.

"Give me that mask and I won't tell the guard about you. Tell me where _you_ got it and what the magic in it does, and I might even give your sword back," said the white fox, bending to pick up his fallen blade.

"No," said Link, and scrubbed his tongue with clean snow.

"Whose knife got stolen and why are you looking for it _here_? Why don't you go to the guard? And why do you smell like King's Tears?" The white fox asked, testing the balance of the sword. "And _where_ did you learn to speak _my_ language?"

" _I_ don't have to tell _you_ anything," spat Link, pulling the mask of truth into place. "Why did you follow me?"

"I wasn't following you. I saw blue magic, and needed to find where it was coming from," said the white fox in Rajo's young voice. It stood over him, leveling the sword at his chest. "I don't want to kill you. I just need what you have."

Link stared up at the white fox, and couldn't manage any words at all.

"I _know_ the blue magic was in this garden. You have to tell me why - and you have give me that mask. It might be the key he sent me for - or the key to _finding_ the key. Sheikah are all about keys and riddles," said the Rajo-fox. "You have to do what I say or bad things will happen. You don't want bad things to happen."

"Bad things have _already_ happened," said Link, taking the mask off again so he could scrub his stupid leaking face off before the tears froze to his cheeks.

"Yeah, well. I don't care. Give me the Sheikah mask," said the Rajo-fox. "Now."

Link shook his head in denial, a pathetic sob closing his throat.

The Rajo-fox snatched it from his hands anyway, pushing the wicked fox mask up to replace it with the terrible enchantment. He imagined for a moment he saw glowing yellow eyes under the mask and furred hood, but he told himself - and his mutinous stomach - that he saw only his fear. That in this time he wasn't yet lost.

"Who are you?" Link whispered, praying vainly that the magic wouldn't awaken.

"Why do you care?"

"It's - names are important," said Link, fighting to regain control of his tongue.

"Gan."

"That is not a nice name."

"Maybe I am not a nice person."

"You _could_ be," said Link, desperately thrusting all his will against the compulsion to say _too much_.

" _Nice_ isn't worth two chipped rupee. People are terrible everywhere, and _nice_ is just a paper mask people wear over their wickedness long enough to get whatever they want."

"You - don't have to be like them. We could go away - far away from any other people at all - I know a place no one ever goes to."

" _We_? Why should I go anywhere with a _Hylian_? You people are worst of all."

"I'm not like that - I'm not like those bad people who hurt you - I swear it by the golden gods or anything else you want."

"And why should I believe you?"

"Because I _can't_ lie to you when you're wearing the mask," sobbed Link. "No one can. That's what it does - the spirit in that mask. It makes people show you the truth of their heart, even if they don't want to."

Ganondorf laughed.


	57. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 11

Moonlight caught in the facets of the sacred bluestone flute, making it glow like the wandering fire.

Ganondorf turned it over in his hands, fighting the urge to empty his guts in the snow. "What does it do? Exactly?"

"Many things," said the sad Hylian boy. "There are songs that - when _I_ play them on _that_ \- let me dance through time."

"Show me," said Gan, shoving the flute into the other boy's pale hands. A little of the vertigo lifted when he wasn't touching it anymore, and the pressure inside his head eased when he looked away.

All of which returned a hundredfold when the boy lifted the flute to his lips.

The first note caved his chest in.

The second split his head into a thousand excruciating fragments.

The third stripped away the world and dropped what was left of him into a cold worse than the icy river below the city. Nothing but pain existed in that timeless, frozen hell. His fraying lifethreads snapped and shattered in the unfathomable cold.

An age later, the sun rose through the white agony, stitching his eyes back into his head and stuffing him so full of emptiness that a gust of wind might blow his feet clear off the frozen ground.

"Sorry," said the Hylian with a sniffle.

Gan tried to take a step and stumbled over some hidden nonsense in the snow. The Hylian boy caught him before he could fall, though the other wasn't much taller than him. The boy held him steady with surprising strength as he shook the fog from his brain. "Din's eternal flame - what did you _do_?"

"I made the sun dance," said the Hylian with a heavy sigh, nodding his narrow chin towards the pale sky. "Now it is morning for everyone. But please - for me, the magic is different. Dancing the sun down the river where you can _hear_ me play it is dangerous for you."

Ganondorf lifted a hand to reassure himself the Sheikah mask hadn't slipped. If the Hylian told the truth about its magic, then what he said _now_ must be true also, howsoever impossible it seemed. He looked around them - careful not to let his head slosh too much - marking the shadows of the dead trees and the fresh snow filling in their tracks. Even the satchel was half-buried under a glittering white drift.

"Where did you get such powerful magic, Hylian?" Gan shrugged off his clinging hands, trying another - more cautious - step. Graceless, but steady enough.

The boy choked and stammered through his answer. "Didn't. Princess gave."

"The sacred maiden herself just _gave_ that to _you_? An ignorant milk-faced _child_? Why?

"To remember," said the boy, cradling the bluestone flute to his thin chest. The translucent instrument caught and held the sunlight even so, its baleful blue glow washing out the true color of the boy's tunic and outlining the bones in his pale hands.

"What could _you_ possibly need to remember that a princess would even care about? Who are you to be so favored by the gods?" Gan punctuated his demands with a flourish of the stolen sword, but the boy didn't even flinch. The implicit threat seemed not to mean any more to him than the cold itself - but perhaps the drink still thinned his blood and mazed his brain.

" _Favored_? How _dare_ you," cried the boy, charging at him barehanded.

Gan stepped aside easily, catching the boy's wool tunic with his off hand to rein in his violence. The boy struggled and tore himself free only to crunch face-first into a snow-shrouded rose bush. He curled on his hands and knees in the snow and thorns, moaning something about failure. Gan decided he must be some kind of highborn swordmaster's apprentice, to be so clumsy and miserable and still so overconfident in his strength. He'd seen the saiev in their cups often enough to know how reckless even a true warrior could be with too much drink in her belly.

Nabs had told him once that the sour, creamy elixir they fermented from the Sun Crown plant was not half so heady as sweet majir, and considered to bring good luck and good health for avadha. She also warned him a single cup of the sharp, colorless distillation they called King's Tears hit with the strength of a whole skin of majir.

"Answer me, Hylian," said Gan, bending to pick up the fallen flute. It curdled his stomach slightly less than before, but he could harbor no further doubt that this must be the key the warrior-spirit sent him to find.

"My _name_ is _Link_ ," growled the boy.

"Don't care," said Gan. "Why did she give it to _you_? When? Why have you brought it _here_? Will it open the clock tower? _Can this unmake what is woven?"_

Link shook his head both yes and no, rocking back on his heels and scrubbing his sleeve across his face. "I can take you forward with me, but when I am going back? You will remain when I dance, and in the yesterday all of this is forgotten. _Everyone_ will forget."

"Fine," said Gan, shoving the flute at him, gesturing that he take it and rise. "Sing me downriver then, to where I find the orb of the spirits. I'm bored of looking for it."

Link only shook his head in denial, not even looking at the flute. "I can't do this either. The cost to hurry one turn of the sun for you is high enough - and what have you done in the hours that I danced away? Nothing. The magic drags you into the rapids. Do you understand? For everyone else, last night passed no different than any other. I can take you no further or the river will destroy you."

"What good is a relic if you can't _do_ anything with it?"

Gan threw the flute down in fury.

A cold hand seized the back of his neck.

"Don't be stupid," Link murmured in his ear.

Gan stared at the empty snow where Link had been not even a heartbeat before. At his empty hands. At the divot in the snow before him where the flute should have cracked or shattered against the neglected garden path.

"There is more magic in this world than you've yet dreamed, desert prince," said Link, his grip fierce as death. "Don't _ever_ do that again."

"I don't - what even happened?" Gan stammered, swallowing hard and praying that he wouldn't retch. He couldn't understand why the young Hylian witch-knight would conjure away his sword and flute but not the mask. "How did you know-?"

"Come," said Link, shoving him off balance. "See the river frozen. See a little of what this _relic_ is good for."


	58. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 12

Morning light poured over the silent city, perfect and pure. Nothing disturbed the peace - not even the snow dared to crunch underfoot. Time moved too slowly for anything so vulgar as wind or noise. The residents of Clocktown moved like dream spirits, unseeing, unhearing, unhurried, their lives interrupted and leashed to the magic of the ocarina.

Until he reversed the spell, time would pool here. If he left the spell in place long enough, the whole city would drift clear of its moorings and become a realm unto itself, the residents trapped in amber, their world accessible only by dancing through the river or unlocking one of the shattered timegates.

He wasn't sure how long 'long enough' was, or if he really wanted to find out, but he had no reason to doubt Rajo's scholarship - especially regarding any subject where he'd believed the ancient Gerudo texts and holy Hylian ones stood in agreement. He only prayed Gan wouldn't ask too many questions about it so long as he wore that infernal mask.

"Don't let go," he said, dragging Gan across the silent square.

Gan pulled his hand free by way of answer, and stumbled as the magic coiled around him, dragging him into the still waters.

Link swore, stomping around to his other side. He counted twenty and thought fondly of another drink. Preferably applejack. Something that would smooth the jagged edges inside his head and blunt his temper.

When he felt a little less like punching rocks, he seized Gan's wrist again. Gan yelped in surprise, and very nearly pulled them both into a snowdrift as the magic let him return to more-or-less normal time. Or - at least the same current as Link moved in.

" _I_ don't have to be nice either, you know," said Link. "Do you _want_ to spend the rest of your life in this city, surrounded by mean, selfish, ignorant, violent people? Because I _can_ make sure of it."

"Whatever," said Gan, brushing snow from his unusual white clothes with his free hand and pretending the magic wasn't affecting him. "Just because you have a few tricks doesn't mean anything. Without that stupid flute what good are you? You probably can't even get out of here, sword or not. You're not any bigger than me - you're nothing special - or why would _you_ still be _here_?"

"Th-there was a spirit," said Link, ducking his head and choking on his own tongue under the unwavering glare of the mask. "He said to wait for a friend."

"I'm _not_ your friend," snapped Gan. "You going to believe everything some stupid spirit tells you? The golden gods set us free, or didn't your magic princess teach you that?"

"She - taught me many things," said Link. "Some of them were wrong. But it wasn't her fault. It's just - the gods let her make a mistake. She is good and kind and wise. You could be good, too."

"I don't care about _good_ , or _nice_ , or _friends_. I just need to find the _damn_ orb," said Gan.

"Why?" Link managed to croak.

"Reasons," snapped Gan.

"Maybe I - can help you find it," said Link.

"I don't need _help_ ," said Gan. "I need to get _away_ from _people_. I need to find the orb before the demonstone finds _me_."

"And if it does?" Link wrapped Gan's hand in both of his own, praying to any power that could hear him that this time, _finally_ this time, Ganondorf would be _good_ , and everything would be alright again.

"Bad things," mumbled Gan through the mask. "I don't want to talk about it."

"We can leave right now. But you gotta trust me," said Link. "I know a safe place."

"Fine," said Gan at last.

So he dragged Gan halfway across the city, and not two words between them the whole time - even when they passed through the shadow of the great clock. He pulled Gan past shopkeepers and farmers, hungover revelers and tired guards, and unlocked the wicket door in the big iron gate in the south wall.

"Hn," said Gan, reaching out to prod the frozen gatesman standing beside it. The poor guardian tipped off balance, but the magic wouldn't let him correct himself, nor yet fall.

"Don't do that. It's _mean_ ," said Link.

"And freezing them isn't?" Gan said, prodding the poor man the other way before Link could pull him out of reach.

" _You_ wanted to know what the magic did," said Link. "The only other way out of the city when you are small is through the waters that turn the clockwheel. How long can _you_ hold your breath under water?"

Gan shook his head. "Fine - but once I'm outside, you go back and take the magic off them, or else."

"Or else what-?" Link turned away, his heart aching fearsomely, and pulled Gan after him through the wicket door. In the weeks they'd been separated, Gan had embraced the casual ruthlessness that would always be the habit of his enemy - and yet.

And yet.

Under his caustic manners, under his bitter rejection of any and all aid or affection, the spark of Light persisted in the depths of Rajo's besieged heart.

He felt Gan shrug as they stepped out into the open. "Just let them go. You don't want to cross me, Hylian."

So Link led him downhill into the shelter of a vast hollow log, and warned him not to move from that spot. Gan just snorted in contempt - and didn't bother even answering his warning about the dangers lurking in the frost-bright tallgrass. Admittedly, mindless chu weren't exactly _strong_ monsters, but Gan didn't even have his knife.

He wasn't sure he should give it back to him either, after last time.

Link released Gan's hand, lingering a moment to watch the sticky-slow enchantment take hold of him again. He wasn't sure why the time magics made Gan sick, or why the spells inside the ocarina affected him the same as if he was a normal person. Zelda wasn't troubled by them at all. She held - and even played - the sacred instrument without flinching.

Then again, when she took her flute and sent him back to his childhood, she stayed behind. The song that carried him away to live his stolen years hadn't affected _her_ \- and he learned to his sorrow the first time he accidentally befriended his enemy that Gan couldn't dance through the river the way he did, either.

Yet of the eight bound by the prophecy, and the ninth sealed by them, Zelda alone also lived in that terrible yesterday, stranded without magic or strength or the weapons which had become a part of his soul. It was a time he couldn't fit himself into, and even the forest closed him out not long after.

Zelda was kind to him, and they became friends for a while. Sort-of. She was after all still the Crown Princess, and he was only a common orphan with a knack for sneaking past the castle guard.

The day came and went that he would have given her the stone of the forest sage, and she did not dream of storms. Or - not that she told him about. Years passed, one very much like the next, yet he never felt at peace in that time.

He kept the green on the forest though, at first. Against all reason, a part of him still hoped Navi lived in that time, that she would come find him and he could go back to living as a Kokiri.

But Navi did not come - and one day he could bear the discordant peace of Hyrule no longer. Zelda gave her treasured heirloom to him as a parting gift, as if she didn't even know what it was for.

And now by its magic he stood more or less alone in the middle of a glorious winter morning at the end of the world, trying desperately to _stop_ remembering.

Link stood in the shadow of the great clock a long time, surrounded by people who would never know any of the things he'd done. For Termina, for Hyrule, for the Light.

"I'm sorry," said Link to no one in particular.

He raised the ocarina to his lips.


	59. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 13

The safe place proved to be a swamp. Or someplace _in_ a swamp. Or maybe - if the gods chose to be merciful - it would lay somewhere on the other side of the horrible, choking, tangled vegetation, far from the half-frozen, mucky waters.

They'd walked almost four days already, from the hollow log below the city to the hidden reed boat tied under a lightning-struck cypress at the verge of land and bog. Every night and every morning on the long walk, Link built a little fire with shards of firerock arrowheads he kept in a belt pouch the way normal people carried money. They ate all the nuts and winterberries they could glean on the way, and somehow every morning Link found a brace of rabbits or wild cucco to roast.

This morning, it was cucco - and the spare one hung at the back of the little boat, though as afternoon tilted towards twilight, Gan began to wonder how they would ever cook it. Or if Link had any intention of stopping. Which, as the buzzing of hidden insects grew with every hour that passed, Gan wasn't sure _he_ wanted to stop either.

Especially when the dragonflies came.

Giant, carnivorous, enchanted dragonflies with lightning for venom in their scorpion-like stingers, and deafening iridescent wings that shattered the waning light.

Link shot down the first two pair with the bow and arrows he'd apparently left on the boat. When the abused wood snapped, pieces flew everywhere, striking them both. Link swore at the bow.

Gan swore at Link. "Are all Hylians this stupid? Who leaves _any_ weapon and nevermind a _bow_ where the thrice-damned snow can get it?"

"It's always been fine before," said Link with a sour face, picking splinters out of his palm while Gan poled them forward as best he could.

"Yeah, well maybe you should think about what it's like for the _rest_ of the damn world when you play your stupid flute," said Gan. "How far is it to solid ground?"

"I don't know, not exactly," said Link, picking up his own abandoned pole as another dragonfly noticed them and veered their way. "The swamp changes - it is easy to be lost here, so whatever happens, don't go off-"

"Whatever," interrupted Gan, pushing another fall of thorny, tangling vines out of his face. The closer they drifted to the creepy trees, the harder it was to push the boat along, and the more they had to wrestle with the growing things. But there were dragonflies hunting in the open places. "We're both stuck on this stupid boat now, so whatever happens or doesn't, it's _your_ fault. Not mine."

A hurled deku nut from the mist off to the left somewhere cut short whatever answer Link might have given. The flash of shell striking steel seared his eyes, and his ears rang with the whistle of a second flying at them from the right. He struck it aside with his muddy pole and pulled Link down into the bottom of the reed boat, spreading the wolfos-fur cloak over them both. Another nut whistled past, and he clenched his teeth against the ominous drone of another dragonfly circling the boat.

"Gan - it's ok," murmured Link, grasping his shoulder under the cover of the cloak. "I know how to get us to the other side - I just forgot there's more at twilight. It'll be ok - you stay down - I'll take care of it."

Gan grabbed his wrist before he could rise. "Not with the flute."

Link winced. "Ok."

"That's what I thought," said Gan, letting him go so he could unfasten the cloak. "Hylian coward - hiding behind your _stupid_ tricks-"

"Am _not_ \- I just - wanted to keep _you_ safe," said Link, his voice raw and cracking as the dragonflies tried to strike at them through the cloak. "I will drive them off. Stay put."

"Go suck an egg," snapped Gan, digging through his satchel for the handful of deku baba shells he'd managed to collect. "You don't even know where we are, do you?"

"Don't be stupid," said Link, bracing to throw off the wolfos fur and stand again. "I've been here a _thousand_ times."

Gan counted six breaths as Link shouted and struck at the hungry insects. Just enough to draw their full attention. _Then_ he rolled out from under the cloak and hurled the first shell.

Five shells left. Four dragonflies still circling and at least two skittish deku scrubs in the twilight fog.

Four shells left and the scrub to their left squeaking a hasty retreat. Link swore at him and cut down a dragonfly - but another flew from the mists to take its place.

Gan shouted and reclaimed the pole with his off hand to fling stinking muck at the closest bug. It dodged the mud and his first wild swing, but he managed to block its return strike and disable it with another shell.

He kicked the stunned dragonfly into the bog and raised the pole to drive it under. Link shouted in warning. He couldn't turn fast enough to deflect the one behind him.

Lightning arced. Stinging, shattering, blinding pain crawled through his bones. He fell to his knees, dropping the pole. A clattering bounce, a wet smack, and an ominous blorp answered his slurred curses as he scrambled to reclaim it. Another lightning sting knocked him flat on his face in the bottom of the reed boat.

"What are you doing-? You stubborn fool - I _told_ you to stay put," cried Link, slashing through another dragonfly as a whistling deku nut struck the little boat. "Get under the damn fur or _fight back_ already!"

"I _am_ fighting," snapped Gan, thrusting his right hand into his satchel for the last three shells. He wasn't sure he could hit a moving target until the tremors stopped.

The dragonflies couldn't easily reach him at the bottom of the boat - but a deku nut caught him on the shoulder and flung him hard against the side, making the sad little craft rock perilously. On the rising tilt, one of the dragonflies caught him, and he dropped the deku baba shells.

Gan swore, scrambling after them through the pain, praying the stupid boat wouldn't dump the shells in the bog.

" _Do_ something or stay _down_ ," shouted Link. "Forget the shells already."

Gan hung over the side of the boat, watching through a red haze as bubbles rose through the slimy water. He wasn't certain - he hadn't actually _seen_ them fall overboard. He hadn't seen much - between the flash of the deku nuts and the lightning and the pent-up magic pressing against the inside of his head, he could barely keep his balance.

A tiny skittering, hopping thing jumped at him and latched onto his hand. He yelped, jerking away. A dragonfly stung his neck.

Gan didn't even remember falling, not then, and not after. Just the sharpness, and then the water. Every direction looked exactly the same, a murky sort of green-brown, with darker tendrils drifting towards him. He tried to kick away from them, but his legs were so heavy he could barely lift his feet at all. He turned his head, and his whole body twisted instead. Bubbles streamed up through his shirt and past his face, and flashing lights bounced through the water around him in the weird, heavy silence.

Gan closed his eyes. He wasn't good at swimming anyway.

Ticklish bubbles flowed across his face and neck, and he almost laughed, remembering how when he was very little, Nabs used to tease him with a peacock feather for oversleeping the call to lessons.

Something bumped against his head, and a new tightness gripped his chest. Strong fingers dug into his neck and shoulder, pressing him tight to a solidness at his back. Gan opened his eyes in confusion, but all he could see was red and brown and bubbles.

Then they broke through the frigid surface in a great clamor of light and noise.

Link dragged him into the bottom of the boat, rolling him into his side with blasphemous threats, thumping his back. Coughing up bog water hurt, but it hurt worse coming out his nose. He coughed, and wheezed, and coughed more, seeing nothing until he could manage to scrub his hand over his face and get the muck and hair out of his eyes.

"Mask," he rasped in horror.

"Goddess bright, too close," breathed Link, shaking his shoulder.

"Wait - stop," said Gan, flailing gracelessly for Link's hand. "Mask - where's mask?"

"Don't worry about it," said Link, pressing his hand too tightly. "It's ok now."

" _Not_ okay," said Gan, his voice broken and hideous. "Mask - go back-"

Link pushed him back down as he tried to rise. "No - it's gone. It's fine. We don't need it. Just lay down. Breathe. Ok? The bugs are gone. You're safe. Ok?"

Gan nodded, waiting, gathering strength and will. He tried to feel the movement of the boat, tried to remember which side he'd fallen from, and when he met a blankness, which side Link dragged him back from.

"Good - it's ok now. Everything is ok," babbled Link, relaxing his grip and stroking his arm instead.

Gan counted eight, and rolled to his knees. The boat rocked - he lurched rather than leapt back into the water.

Link yelled.

Gan flailed after a pale shape just under the surface - but it was just a yellowed lilipad. He thought he saw another patch of white, but he couldn't keep his head far enough above the water to tell. Then he couldn't see it at all. Then he started coughing again. Then he couldn't remember which way was up.

Link threaded his arms around behind him again, dragging him back to the reed boat. This time he trapped Gan under the wolfos-fur cloak as soon as he'd finished coughing up swamp water. He put his own back against the curved wall of the boat, and dragged Gan into his lap, babbling platitudes.

Gan wept, howling in raw fury.

"It's ok," said Link, pushing strands of wet hair off his face.

"You don't _understand_ ," cried Gan.

"You're safe now," said Link. "I've got you."

"No - the mask - lost the _mask_ ," cried Gan.

"Don't worry about the mask," said Link, bowing and winding his arms around his shoulders. "It's not important."

"I need it!" Gan cried, vainly trying to untangle himself from the cloak. "My entire _life_ was a lie until - until-"

"So was mine," said Link gently. "But it'll be ok. We're together now. I will be your friend."

"But," said Gan, unable to wrap words around the sucking hollowness in his chest.

"You don't need the mask with me," said Link. "We are almost to the safe place. No one will find us there, and monsters can't go there anymore either. I fixed it."


	60. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 14

Thin morning sunlight carved the fog into shifting gossamer veils curling back from the shallow waters. A small reed boat wove between stumps and sedges and towering kneed cypress, meandering towards the open marshland. A vast lumpy island interrupted the horizon, overgrown with button grass and forked sundrop and rambling myrtle.

Enormous curving spikes cloaked in moss and chokevine and blue leatherflower rose above the scrubby trees spilling over the heart of the island. Blue-throated wrens and firetail finches gossiped among the greenery, and a few lazy heron on the sandbars kept wary eyes on the approaching children. Startled frogs plopped back into the water ahead of them, and curious fish investigated their wake.

When the reed boat starting bumping too frequently against the mud and roots at the bottom of the marsh, the fair boy in dark clothing handed his pole to the dark child in white furs, splashing into the water to help drag the boat up onto the sandbar. The herons scolded the trespassers, and flew away into the thinning mist.

The child in white hopped down from the boat, but kept the pole as he followed the boy up the shore. "What is this place?"

"It's mine," said the boy with a shrug and a lopsided grin. He pointed to a rough trail of lower grasses winding up the muddy green slope. "The ruins here are different from anywhere else - you'll see."

"Do you live in this place?" The child in white asked, pushing loose red curls out of his eyes. "Alone?"

"Sometimes. I don't like people anymore either," said the boy. "Come on - I want to show you something."

The child in white followed another three steps and stopped, planting his muddy white boots and thumping the pole against the sand. "So why'd you drag me here? _I'm_ people."

The boy rolled his eyes and retraced his steps to reach for the other child's hand. "You're different. Come on - I want to show you something."

"No," said the child, pulling out of reach. "How do you know I'm any different from anyone else?"

"Gan - don't be stubborn," said the boy. "You just are, ok?"

"Why?" Gan insisted. "And how did you know I'm a prince?"

"I don't want to talk about it," said the boy.

"You promised you'd tell me the truth," said Gan, thumping his pole on the ground. "How do you think you know _anything_ about me?

"I," said the boy, gesturing helplessly. He stammered the beginnings of words, trailing into silence, his blue eyes wide and searching.

"You have to tell me," said Gan, taking one step towards the boy. "It's the rules."

"Because - I've seen you before," the boy stammered at last, wringing his hands. "In the tomorrows. Bad things happened there, so I - I ran away."

Gan moved closer. " _What_ bad things? What did you see?"

"I don't want to talk about it," said the boy, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets and scuffing his dark boots in the sand. "It doesn't matter anyway - I danced the sun and it is all forgotten now. This time it will be different."

"Hn," said Gan, tightening his fist around the pole. "What if you're wrong?"

"It _will_ be different this time," growled the boy, baring his teeth.

"But what if it isn't?" Gan pressed, his golden eyes bright. "What if the spirit's meddling just makes it all happen faster?"

For a long time the boy said nothing, staring a hole in the sand at his feet. "If you let me be your friend, maybe we can figure out how to fix it together."

"Hn," said Gan. "I'll think about it. Show me whatever the stupid thing is."

The pale boy in dark clothing sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He nodded, gesturing for Gan to follow, and together the boys climbed into the dense greenery cloaking the odd little island.

Gan paused often to stare at skittish lizards and waxy-leaved plants, mossy rocks and curving spikes sticking up through the trees. The other boy held his tongue, and waited for him every time. Even when his city boots slipped in the loose soil halfway up the slope, and he stopped completely to scrape away more dirt from the rust-colored rock beneath.

"What is this place?" Gan asked, slipping off his ruined gloves to touch the rock.

"I don't know," said the other boy with a shrug. "I found it after the tomorrow they sent me away from the city, after she - after they - after the tomorrow of the war."

Gan frowned at the rock another long moment. He stuffed his gloves into his battered satchel and stood. "Hyrule is already at war."

"Yeah," said the boy with a shrug. "The war started a long time ago. But in the first tomorrow, the war ended for a while when I lived in the forest. After the tomorrow of the moon, I tried to go home like they told me to, but the war was very bad in that time. I don't want to talk about it."

"Hn," said Gan, squinting up at the curving ruins against the glare of the morning sun. "How long have you been here? How do you know it's safe?"

"No one ever comes here but me," said the boy. "Not even Deku or pirates or - just come see. There is a kind of metal tree at the very top where you can see for miles. You will like that part."

Gan nodded, falling into step behind the other boy again, his golden eyes wandering everywhere except the path. "How old are you anyway? You look older than the innkeeper's daughter, but not much."

"I dunno," said the boy, lifting a curtain of vines so Gan could climb the overgrown steps jutting out of the hill on the other side. "Does it matter?"

"Maybe," said Gan. "How old were you when you saw me before?"

"Twelve," said the boy tightly. "I think."

Gan nodded, concentrating on the switchback climb until they stopped to rest in the shadow of four fat spikes at the foot of a much steeper incline. He scraped moss from the nearest spike with his pole, prodding at the regular rounded lumps marching up the surface.

"How old was I in that time?" Gan asked, watching the other boy sidelong.

The boy winced, flexing his left hand and balling it into a fist several times before he answered. "Big."

"Ah," said Gan. He thunked his pole on the ground again and started up the slope first.

They climbed in silence after that - or rather, they let the morning carry the conversation without them. Eventually they reached the crest of the first hill, where the soil stretched too thin over the ruins for much to grow. A narrow bridge of roped-together palm trunks joined the first hill to a cave-like hollow in the side of the next, and to either side, the sun threw long shadows under the curving spikes.

Just before noon, they finally reached the foot of the leafless metal tree, with its bare stubby branches and its ladder made of rusty metal rope. The pale boy gestured for Gan to look closer, and turned his own attention to kicking melted-looking rocks heaped around the crest of the hill. Gan set the pole aside to climb the ladder. Halfway up he stopped, staring not at the horizon, but the island below.

"Bones of the leviathan," he murmured, his golden eyes tracing the almond shape formed by the curved ribs stretched between and beyond the hills below him.

The other boy found a rock that cracked, and started prying it open with his sword. The shriek of metal pulled Gan's attention again, and he hurried back down.

"Stop that," he shouted. "Don't you know anything? You'll break it!"

"It's fine. I think it just rusted," said the pale boy, wriggling the blade deeper into the crack and giving it a wrenching twist. "I should have covered it somehow or put it below, but it's kinda heavy, so I didn't."

"You unlettered _idiot_ ," shouted Gan, charging at the other boy and shoving him hard. The pale boy stumbled, and Gan twisted his wrist until he let go of the abused weapon. He cursed as he pulled it free, and growled over the damaged edge and bent blade. "You've wrecked it already."

The pale boy stared at Gan in baffled surprise, absently rubbing his reddened wrist. "It's just a sword."

"Yeah? And where will we get another one? What's wrong with you?" Gan demanded, gesturing rudely.

The pale boy blushed and fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. "Why are you so upset?"

Gan flipped the blade neatly to thrust the hilt at the other boy. "Don't disrespect your weapon like that again."

The pale boy took his sword back, snapping it to the side automatically before returning it to its sheath. "I don't understand why it matters. It's _safe_ here."

Gan turned heel and fetched the forgotten boat pole without a word. He stomped back to the cracked metallic rock, wedging the wood into the hollow space and throwing his weight against it until the hollowed out halves groaned another hand's breadth apart.

"Gan," said the pale boy.

"Just shut up and help," said Gan, heaving against the pole.

Together they pried and heaved and cracked the thing wide open in only a few minutes, revealing a shrouded lump inside. The pale boy drew the cloth away, gesturing at the wire-wrapped stone sphere inside.

Gan frowned at it. "That's bluestone. Isn't it."

The pale boy grinned, reaching in to fetch the sphere with a grunt of effort. He lugged it to a much larger green rock with a hollow in the middle, and heaved it in. It splashed in the stagnant water pooled there, catching and holding the winter sunlight inside itself.

Gan swallowed hard, and sank down on one knee, further bracing himself with the splintered boat pole.

The pale boy drew his sword and struck the sphere in one graceful motion.

The stone rang a single perfect note.

Searing copper-blue light flowed from the caged sphere and over every part of the island. Centuries of rust and sediment and vegetation burned away in an instant. Hills flattened out into terraces, rocks reformed into rusty crates and cannonballs and coiled chain. Railings and cables knit themselves back into place. Riveted metal panels poured through time to sheathe the shining ribs of the lost ship.

A whole flock of terrified brown cucco rioted into the air around the two children who had so suddenly appeared in their midst.

The pale boy's grin faltered when he looked at Gan's solemn face. He returned his battered sword to its sheath with the same automatic gestures. He waited, but Gan said nothing either.

The cucco settled again, farther from the intruders, complaining to each other about the fallen state of the world and scandalous lack of worms. The pale boy began to unbuckle his swordbelt.

"Don't," said Gan without looking away from the glowing bluestone-and-gold sphere.

"Why? It's safe here," said the pale boy. "Isn't it amazing? A whole ship! It can't go anywhere, and there's some holes, but-"

" _Never_ abandon your weapon," said Gan solemnly, pushing to his feet and dragging his gaze away from the heart of the enchantment. "You might need it."

"But-" began the pale boy.

"It's the rules," he said, and strode to the railing. He laid his hand on the verdigris brass, looked over the edge, and promptly threw up.


	61. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 15

Ganondorf stood under the sluice gate until his feet ached from standing on the bumpy metal floor. He let an obscene amount of clean water pour over him and away down the drain, and still he stood in the sun-warmed deluge.

It didn't help.

He threw the lever to seal the cistern again and dripped his way across the small room. He didn't bother drying off.

He slipped down the empty hallway, annoyed that the ship's lightcrystal lamps glowed both day and night. Time was already turned sideways here, and the constant amber light belowdecks only made it worse.

Gan left his door open to catch whatever passed for a breeze in this miserable summer, and pulled his felted mattress and all his linens onto the floor. He climbed over the heap and stretched out on the itchy horsehair straps with his long hair draped over the side to keep it off his neck.

He stared up at the faded old blankets Link had strung up over his bed like a storybook tent, and tried not to think.

Ganondorf was not good at not thinking about things.

Link came looking for him before his hair even stopped dripping. "Lunch is ready. I found peppers this morning, and one more jar of winterberry jam in the crate that washed up last week."

"I'm not hungry," said Gan.

"Ok, we can eat later," said Link. "Come help me pack it into the ice closet?"

"No," said Gan, closing his eyes.

Link didn't go away. "Ok, you can help tomorrow. Do you want to go fishing? I fixed the poles."

"No," said Gan.

Link sighed, stepping into the room. His boots made the floor thump even through the scavenged, waterstained rugs. "We could work on the loom some more. I'm sorry I said it was stupid yesterday. I'm just not very good with small stuff like the wires and bolts and-"

"Do whatever you want," said Gan, rolling over to face the wall.

"Um," said Link, stopping somewhere in the middle of the room. "Gan? What happened to your clothes-?"

"It's hot," said Gan. "Go away."

"Um," said Link. "But you're Ge-"

"I know what I am," snapped Gan. "Leave me _alone_."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Link. "I just - you've been down here a while. I wanted to help."

"You can't," said Gan.

"Well. Not if you don't tell me what's wrong," said Link. "It's solstice you know. We should do nice things today. Feast and stuff."

"Solstice here or solstice out there?" Gan sighed. "Anyways I have a headache."

"Oh! There are still more potions," began Link, turning for the door.

"Not that kind of headache," said Gan, throwing his arm over his eyes. He was already sweating again.

"Oh," said Link softly, his hollow steps dragging to a halt. "Another storm?"

"Yeah," said Gan. "On both sides."

"Would more topaz help? I can go look through the rock boxes again," said Link.

"Sure," lied Gan.

Link knocked on the door barely an hour later. If it could be said an hour held any real meaning in this place.

"I brought tea," he said after a long silence.

Gan groaned, twisting to look over his shoulder. "You do know what the word _hot_ means, right?"

"This is different tea. It will help," said Link. "At least try it?"

"If you promise to shut up and leave me alone," said Gan, gesturing for him to come or go as he pleased.

Link crossed the room more quietly this time, setting a crate full of rocks and bottles on the edge of the stripped wooden bed frame. He uncorked a bubbly green glass bottle and offered it without a word.

Gan swore, propping himself up on one elbow to take the steaming bottle cautiously. The glass rim seemed cool, which was odd - but then the dark amber liquid made a clink sound and it was so cold on his tongue it made his teeth hurt. Also it was disgusting.

Link fidgeted, splotchy pink staining his pale face, but he didn't say anything.

"What in the _hell_ is this brew?" Gan asked when he managed to stop coughing.

"It's tea," mumbled Link. "With honey."

"Ugh - whatever you did, this stuff is _not_ tea," said Gan, laying back down and resting the cold bottle against his forehead. "The ice was a good idea though."

"I did find some more topaz," said Link, blushing harder.

"It won't help," said Gan, closing his eyes. "I just said that so you'd go away."

"Oh," whispered Link. "Sorry."

Gan shrugged. "It's not your fault."

"I - could go to Clocktown if you want," said Link. "There is lots of food in the ice closet - I wouldn't be gone long. But I could buy things. New clothes? Or books?"

"Maybe tomorrow," said Gan. "When the storm is over."

It _was_ a good idea. Most of the clothes he'd brought with him on their escape had worn ragged long ago, or else were too warm to even think of wearing. The boots had become uncomfortably tight too.

But - he suddenly couldn't shake the idea that something terrible would happen if Link left the ship tonight.

"Um," said Link.

Gan held his tongue until his ears itched from waiting for him to finish. "Say it. Whatever it is can't possibly be as annoying as your endless fidgets."

"Would it help if - that is, I could help you with your hair," stammered Link. "If you like. You don't have to. I was just thinking, the heat. And your curls are long. And-"

" _You_ know how to braid?" Gan cracked one eye open in disbelief.

"I'm not very good," mumbled Link. "But at least - I can get the tangles out. If you like."

"Hn," said Gan, confused by Link's distress.

Maybe it was just the headache, but he didn't make any sense. Hylian men didn't wear long hair, and most Terminan men didn't either. He'd commented before about Gan's ragged braids, but he'd always dismissed it as more foreign prejudice. Yet - he seemed on the edge of genuine panic at the possibility of offending him with the offer.

"Sorry," said Link, taking a step back. "I'll just go - um - feed the cucco. Sorry."

"If you promise to be _quiet_ , they can wait. You spoil the hens too much anyway," said Gan. "The combs are in the blue box on the table."

"Oh," said Link, blushing so hard he looked like he'd gotten viper's blood on his tongue.

Gan snorted and closed his eyes again, tilting the bottle to keep the cool side against his face. Link gathered his tools and a pile of rejected cushions, settling quietly above the head of the bed. For all he claimed to be bad at small things, his hands were gentle, and he never lost his patience unweaving what was left of Nabooru's work. He even combed memoryleaf oil from root to tip, smoothing his curls in idle silence.

Gan pretended his eyes weren't watering, and Link didn't say anything either. If he even noticed. He sectioned off a couple loose twists, and set the first crosses of a tiny spinebraid right down the center.

The rain started as Link bound the end of the very last plait.

"Thank you," murmured Gan.

Link blushed, and nodded, and stood up without a word.

Gan caught his hand. "If it really is solstice - then I'm seven today."

Link nodded.

"It's kinda funny, the way you did it," said Gan. "I don't know if you ever met my sister in the tomorrows you left behind. She wore her hair like this on feast days."

"Do you miss her?" Link asked, blue eyes fixed on the floor.

"Yeah," confessed Gan. "But I can't go back."

"I'm sorry," said Link.

"It's not your fault," said Gan.

Link flinched, and tried to pull his hand away.

"I'm not a nice person," said Gan, trapping Link's hand more firmly. "No matter what the fierce white spirit told you, you don't have to stay with me. You don't have to be nice all the time. You don't have to pretend to be friends."

"I'm not pretending," said Link, returning the fierce grip but frowning at his empty palm. "Why are you pushing me away again? What did I do wrong?"

Gan took a deep breath. "In the tomorrows you left behind - was I a good person? Tell me the truth."

"It's complicated," said Link at last, working his narrow jaw and scrubbing his hand over his pale face. "But this time will be different."


	62. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 16

Autumn in Termina brought riotous color and cooling rains, even at the far edge of the southern swamp. The marsh tides shifted, bringing forth another carefully arranged cache every few days.

The oppressive, humid heat finally broke just after equinox, and cool winds from the mountains seemed to lift Gan's dark mood. A little.

At least, he laughed when he cursed the cucco for all going into molt at once. They had more than enough eggs pickled and frozen for half a year of breakfasts even if the hens never laid another, so the only real trouble it made lay in keeping the goats from eating too many of the feathers. Gan declared that as long as they were already sneezing feathers, they should gather it all to make featherbeds and down cushions for the winter.

So Link drove all the cucco into the midship hold, and every morning they collected bags of feathers to be washed and sorted. Gan lost interest after the fourth day, but Link didn't mind. The work kept his hands busy, and he was glad of it. Every wind brought with it memories he'd rather it didn't, and that was more than trouble enough without idleness to magnify it.

Gan still helped sometimes, feeding the animals and fishing and cleaning things. Most of the time though, if they weren't exploring the marsh and swamp, he lazed about. He made half-hearted bids at building dozens of different things, looms and bows and puppets and wheeled contraptions of mysterious purpose. Not one project could survive a third headache - Gan abandoned his designs with complete disinterest each time.

Link couldn't bear to push him. He was only seven - he should have a chance at a happier childhood. Let him skip rocks for a whole afternoon. Let him nap and daydream. He was born a prince - when in this time had he ever needed to do work? Let him swing on twistvine and play in the mud if he liked.

What need had they of machines? Anything they couldn't already salvage in the marsh, Link could easily fetch from one city or another and stash in one of the treasure rooms while Gan was napping. The ancient ship needed so few repairs to make a house of it, he could manage them on his own. Some would be easier if he were big, but mostly because he'd let himself get in the habit of living in that body last time.

"Hey," said Gan, flinging himself down on the rug and leaning on a bag of unsorted feathers. "How long you gonna do that today?"

Link shrugged. "You wanna do something?"

"Maybe. I made new toss-rings. Better than the last set - you can even make them hook a little if you don't have a crosswind," said Gan.

"Let's go try them out in the trees," said Link, shoving his handful of feathers into the proper bag and tying the corners tight.

"Sure," said Gan with a shrug. "Grab your cloak though. It will probably rain while we're out there."

"No storm?" Link asked lightly. "Here, your ribbon is crooked."

Gan sat forward, letting him untangle the wide white-and-blue twill ribbon and smooth his braids into a tidy high horsetail again. "No storms. Just the usual afternoon shower. It'll be good. Keep the mosquitos off."

"There," said Link, cinching up the lark's head knot and wrapping the tails around for a square. "Before I tie it off, want your hair doubled up today?"

"Nah," said Gan. "We won't be going anywhere it would snag."

"And - done," said Link, pulling the extra ribbon into a crisp bow. "Last one to the boat's a rotten egg?"

Gan made a rude noise, pushing to his feet and stretching lazily. "Nah, that's a stupid game."

"Ok," said Link with a shrug. He turned for the door - and yelped in surprise when Gan shoved him off balance from behind.

Gan laughed as he pelted for the door, knocking over a pile of feather bags after him.

Link groaned as he dug himself out of the bright sorting room - at least the bags didn't spill too much this time. He wasn't surprised at all to find the hatchway grate pulled closed. He could waste ten minutes hauling it open from underneath, or he could burn fifteen going the long way around to the starboard stairway. That is, _if_ Gan hadn't already rigged an obstacle ahead of time.

By the time he caught up, Gan was lounging in the little reed boat, half a hundred plaited cypress bark hoops threaded on ribbon loops at the stern, chewing on a sugarcane leaf, snickering at him.

"How did you even survive out there before me?" Gan asked with a giggle. "You fall for that _every_ time."

Link shrugged and laughed with him, too glad of Gan's good humor to stay annoyed.


	63. Sorrows Come Not : 17 : T-12

Ganondorf threw another pebble overboard and watched it plop into a puddle far below. The water level in marsh seemed higher every week, and the evening rains lasted longer. It was weird, but at least he had a few more days between lightning storms now that the air had cooled some.

"It won't last though," he complained to the goat at his side, folding his hands on the verdigris brass railing. "Evil calls to evil."

The goat grunted, and carried on chewing her mouthful of sweetgrass. Link hadn't come back this morning either, so he'd had to squelch out across the sandbar to gather more. He could have just dragged a hay basket up from the forward hold, but that was really meant for winter. Anyways, fresh was better for her, as she was still giving milk. Not that he was any good at the milking - but maybe Link would be back tonight, and he wouldn't have to get kicked again for trying.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he told the goat. "He makes sure none of us go hungry. Shouldn't that be enough?"

The goat bleated at him.

Gan gave her another handful of grass from his satchel. "I don't know what's wrong with me either. I mean - I _know_ they promised me to the demon, but we're under the orb. And I've been good. Or tried to be, anyway."

The goat slobbered on his hand trying to get all the sweetgrass before her sisters could notice she'd cadged more out of him.

"I guess you couldn't understand. You'll eat almost anything that doesn't fight back," he said with a sigh. "And fish is ok. I guess. _Everything_ he cooks is _ok_. It's just - boring. I miss harissa, and lamb, and yogurt, and honeycakes, and - mother of sands, I even miss pickled salad. I remember the cucco at home when they got the leftover pickles from feast days - ours would probably _riot_."

The goat snorted.

"Yeah," agreed Gan with a sigh, leaning against the rail and staring out through the time-veil at the marsh beyond. "And he better not get himself snapped up by monsters out there or I'll kick his butt. Stupid Hylian."

The goat just chewed her grass.

"If he doesn't come back tonight, I'll have to pull more in the morning. A _lot_ more," he said. "And I should probably set out fish for the cats and cucco, too. _Then_ \- well. He better be back tomorrow, or else."

The goat sneezed.

"Ok," he sighed. "I'll give him _two_ more days. _Then_ I'll try magic."


	64. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 18

Falling.

Roaring darkness. Slippery smothering silence.

Blood.

Brilliant crashing light and a teasingly familiar song rolling through him like distant thunder.

 _Ghost unlaid forbear thee-!_

Link jerked awake when he hit the ground, gasping for air. Every joint ached and his skin felt halfway flayed. His head was stuffed with searing magenta lightning and he couldn't make his eyes work.

"Dammit," he grumbled, slapping his hand against rough cypress bark beneath him, trying to ground himself.

The buzz and chatter of the swamp filtered slowly through the blurry echo of words he couldn't quite remember, or maybe never understood at all. His vision cleared more slowly, and he still felt dazzled by the golden afternoon when he managed to haul himself to his feet and put his back against the trunk.

Link checked sword and quiver and bow. All in order. Better than him, in fact. He hadn't travelled this rough in a long time. It might have been easier if he'd remained in a younger skin, but his best hunting bows required both height and greater draw strength.

Not that he'd flushed any quarry larger than a rabbit.

He uncorked a fresh bottle of applejack, lingering in the shadows until his pulse finally settled. Boar and deer and water buffalo roamed the edge of swamp and woodland - he'd seen them before. Hunted them, before.

Long ago.

Now that he needed meat for Gan? Nothing.

Not that he actually wanted to do it. Cooking was one thing. Carving cooked meat from bone was another. Rabbits, cucco - most of the time, he could still manage. The blood, the butchering of a large creature - that was different.

He should have just gone to a local village or Clocktown market and bought things.

Or to the farm. Smoked sausages would keep a long time in the ice closet. And he could have gotten more applejack. Corfo would shake his head about selling him another crate so soon, but more rupee always won that argument before, why not again? Anyways, that way made it easier to ensure their prosperity from a safe distance. To them, he was nothing more than a steady customer, a rich stranger from far away.

Link corked the empty bottle. It wasn't too late - he could still go to them. Grab the baskets from the boat, rent a cart from a village near the farm to deflect awkward questions. He could figure out explaining where he got the preserved food later. On the way back.

He lost himself in planning what to buy and how to get it back to the shipwreck as he hiked back to the reed boat. These things had to be carefully managed. Magic hidden. Clothes changed.

If Corfo refused to sell him what he needed, then he would need to raid a manor or something. A distillery. A temple. Maybe one of the Gerudo storehouses - they distilled an even more potent spirit, clear as glass and kissed with gold. He could steal strong spices from them too - but he would need to arrange for more old crates and barrels so they could drift into the marsh at high tide. Gan liked discovering lost treasure. Maybe it would cheer him up.

Something moved in the shadows to his right. Large. Heavy.

The arrow jumped from the string before he realized he'd even lifted his bow.

A weighty thump.

Startled cries, birds shrieking belated alarm. Too many scrambling, crunching, thudding footsteps in every direction.

He pushed through the dense undergrowth, scanning the shadows for the others. There shouldn't have been any blins here. Not in this time. Not anymore.

Enormous shapes crashed past him to either side as he reached the clearing. The noise of others fleeing tapered to nothing as he found the bright swatch of white in the darkness.

A perfect hit. The arrow had buried itself in the center of the water buffalo's starred brow, killing it instantly.

"Fuck," he said.


	65. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 19

Ganondorf paced the length of the muddy little island, stabbing the ground with the splintered boat pole, impatient for the rain to stop. The rumbling redness inside his head whispered that he could _make_ it stop - that he'd never even read of such a spell didn't matter to that voice. More insidious than the threats and promises of the spirit in the Rova's blue demongem, the voice like banked embers murmured _possibilities_ and half-remembered dreams.

Another few minutes - no more than a quarter hour - and false dawn would give way to true. He could reach even now, and open the shadow roads. He could already see the paths taking shape, if he didn't look right at them.

To his left lay a lumpy, velvety blackness that might be another, larger island. Then again, it could just be a dense cluster of stumps and vines. Easier to tell after the sun rose - but he couldn't see a good place to set the grapnel. If he waited for the light and the nearest branch proved to be too low or too far, he could be stuck on this mud patch until twilight.

If only the raft hadn't sunk.

But it did.

Ganondorf cursed the gods, secured the pole across his back, and embraced the shadows. He ran up the widest road, directly into the heart of the maybe-island. In the shadow world, fat silver trees stood in a rough arc around a heap of smooth white stones at the top of the central hill - it could mean anything or nothing in the mortal world.

If he was lucky, the shadow road ran over the ground, not under it. He whirled the grapnel about as he dropped back into his own world, ready to catch the first anchor point on offer.

There was none. He fell - but not much further than half his height. He landed poorly, and slid a short way along the wet marble slope, but that was nothing. A vague pink light clung to the damp stone walls of the grotto shrine, and pale fluted pillars defended the pure spring water bubbling up at the center.

"Oh," he breathed.

Gan dropped the grapnel and stripped off the makeshift harness he'd made for the boat pole and the extra rope. He smoothed his hands over his wet braids and straightened his sash. Not that anything in his power could really make him any less muddy and bedraggled and in every way completely unsuitable to go petitioning spirits and fairies.

"I didn't know there were any shrines out here," he said to the empty spring. "So I don't have anything to trade."

Gan folded his hands behind his back and took a step closer. Nothing changed: the pink light grew no brighter, and the water bubbled no higher. He decided there must be small cracks between the slabs of marble letting the water drain away.

"I will bring things later, if you help me now. I have many treasures on the ship," he said. "I'm looking for someone. It's important. You surely know everything that happens in your land - you know which way he went. Tell me what you've seen."

Ganondorf stood at the edge of the water, waiting in the quiet. Outside, it sounded like the rain had stopped.

"I have some pickled eggs left. If you want those, you can have them." Ganondorf dug the sealed bottle of eggs from his satchel and knelt to set it in the shallow water.

He waited in the emptiness and quiet a long time.

"Please," he said.


	66. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 20

A shard of noon detached from the horizon, twisting sunwise with a skein of shimmering blue enchantment. Painful brilliance touched the roots of the ancient cypress trees, flowing onto the rocky slope. The light stretched and crystallized into the form of an ageless warrior, broad-shouldered and densely muscled. He carried a silver chest into the remote fairy shrine, and his shining boots left carmine prints in his wake.

A slender boy with long red braids and rough clothing lay fast asleep beside a glittering pool. The warrior looked down at him in silence, his glowing white eyes betraying no hint of his thoughts. He set the chest aside with the boy's slim provisions, and strode into the water.

Shrill laughter echoed in the tiny space, and a green-haired woman-shaped spirit rose from the center of the pool. Flowers bloomed over her translucent skin, and she floated over the water to smile at the warrior.

"You have come at last, sweet boy. Will you do a small favor for me?"

The warrior bowed, but did not speak.

The laughing green woman floated closer, grasping his hand and tipping a set of gold earloops and rings set with pink sapphires into his gloved palm. She murmured into his long ear as mortals might speak to their beloved: " _Cleanse my shrine_."

The warrior tilted his head, rolling the baubles so the pink light made them sparkle. He spoke softly, yet the sleeping boy stirred and the marble pillars trembled,. " **What prayer carried these into your waters?** "

The green woman laughed. "You ask, yet _you_ answered it - now answer mine!

She twisted away, vanishing in a glitter of pink and green light. White flowers with blue hearts floated on the surface of the water.

The red-haired boy woke, rolling to his knees at once. He reached for a weapon he wasn't wearing, golden eyes fixed on the spiral-forged sword on the warrior's back.

" **You have left the Light,** " said the warrior.

"I had to," said the boy. "You said you would change my stars - I've done everything you said, but bad things still happen. Your stupid Light Orb only makes me wicked somewhen else. It doesn't _fix_ anything."

The warrior closed his fist around the jewelry and turned, looking down at the boy. " **Why have you lost faith in the Light so soon?"**

The child squared his shoulders, undaunted by the solemn might of the divine warrior. "Why should I believe in something that doesn't believe in me? I have given up _everything_ for your stupid Light, and all it ever does is take _more_. You promised if I found the orb everything would be ok. You promised I wouldn't turn into a monster as long as I renounced my mothers, my magic, my people. You promised he would be my friend."

The fell warrior tilted his head, rolling the baubles in the cage of his fingers. " **You are not in good health? You have grown horns and hooves and gnashing sharp teeth? The boy with the time-key has been cruel?** "

"That's the problem, stupid," snarled the boy. "What more does your damned Light want from me? Everything I have done, and still he gets all weird about _everything_ and now he is _gone_ and not even a stupid provincial fairy will answer where."

" **Only a strong and righteous mind can command the powers of Light,** " said the warrior.

"But I _didn't_ even _try_ to command," cried the boy. "I asked! I was _nice_! I gave her gifts!"

The warrior opened his fist in silence, cradling the jewelry in the hollow of his bloodstained palm.

The boy winced. "It was all I had. I - can't get back to the ancient iron ship without using magic. A _lot_ of magic. Anyways nothing there is mine to give. I know it isn't worth much but I - I'm bored of being alone."

The warrior strode from the water and took a knee before the red-haired boy. He stretched out his empty hand as if to caress the boy's dirty face. He stopped short instead, and tucked one crooked finger beneath that stubborn chin. " **Have you forgotten, child of prophecy? I am always with you.** "

The boy shrugged and pulled away, averting his golden eyes. "What good is a guardian spirit when you never even _speak_ until it is too late?"

" **Even gods must obey the law of the Three** ," said the warrior.

"Yeah. I know, free will. You said before," said the child with a sulky glower.

" **Come** \- **I will return you to the safe place,** " said the warrior, offering his hand. " **Monsters thrive on fear and cruelty and hatred. Starve them of it, and choosing good will come more easily. I promise.** "


	67. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 21

Ganondorf lost count of how many times he climbed the metal tree to watch for Link's return. He harvested every scrap of marsh grass within easy reach of the mired ship, and hauled basket after basket of hay and grain from the hold to keep the goats and cucco happy.

Gan searched the ship for something, anything that could make a better raft than his first disastrous attempt. He found a handful of reed poles and forgotten barrels - but the seams proved unsound and anyways there were barely enough poles to lash together for a bed and nevermind a boat.

On the fourth day of solitude after the shrine , it dawned foggy and cold. He could barely see the other side of the ship and nothing at all of the marsh. So he penned the cucco and tethered the goats to the hay crib, and went out to patrol the sandbar again. He wondered again how a ship so large had run aground in such low water, but at the edge of the orb's magic, the grass thinned and the sandbar itself lay underwater half the time. The swamp must have been a different sort of place when the wreck happened.

A rhythmic splash interrupted his thoughts, and he ran along the shore to meet it. He cried victory when he recognized the shape of the little reed boat, charging into the water at once to grasp the prow and help drag it up onto more-or-less dry land.

Link said nothing, throwing all his strength into the work of managing the heavily laden craft. The moment he decided the little boat was secure, he threw down the pole and hefted one of the lidded baskets in silence.

"Hey," said Gan, grasping his shoulder to make him stop. "Let's lower the chain net first so you don't have to carry it so far."

Link refused to look at him, and didn't try to speak. He just - waited.

So Gan let him go, and pulled a second basket off the boat. Trudging through the sand proved far harder with nearly half his weight in food perched on his shoulder. Link made it look easy, ignoring every attempt to persuade him to let the ship's machines do a share of the work.

Gan tried to be patient with him, for he realized when Link turned back for the next basket that his friend was not just filthy but covered in old blood. He hurried to set his own burden on the ice closet shelves, and called out for Link to stop. To speak. To tell him if he was hurt.

Link said nothing. His expression remained weirdly blank, more like a masterwork of a conjured puppet than a person. But his skin still held living warmth, and his cold blue eyes did focus on the path ahead of him. Sort of. He never stumbled, anyway.

Gan couldn't even halfway match Link's silent, determined pace - so he lowered the great net on his own, and loaded as many of the baskets into it as he could. Link took three more all the way to the ice closet while he worked, but at least he came to the deck afterwards to help haul the net up.

When they closed the crowded ice closet on the last basket of meat Gan caught his shoulder again. "Hey. You look - tired. I'll worry about food today, ok? The animals have already eaten too. You've done more than enough work for a _month_."

Link hitched one shoulder by the smallest possible margin.

"Look, you're only going to hurt more later if you don't rest. Maybe you didn't notice, but you've been out there a long time," said Gan.

Link averted his eyes. A little.

"Come on, a bath will make you feel better," said Gan, steering him down the hall.

Link roused some when they reached the door of the washing room. He brushed Gan's hand from his shoulder and waved him off.

"It's ok, I remember. Hylians are weird about that stuff," said Gan. "Want tea when you're done?"

Link shook his head no, and slammed the door behind him. But - didn't seem to notice that it bounced back against the frame, and hadn't latched. Link never missed that sort of thing.

So Gan folded his arms, and argued with himself about making tea anyway, and when he should tell Link about the silver chests the warrior had given to them, and whether he should say anything about the fairy shrine.

But mostly Gan stood beside the door and spied on his friend as he stood under the open sluice gate without even taking his boots off.

Eventually, he did strip off his ugly purple tunic, wadding it up and then just - dropping it on the floor. Gradually, the rest followed, until the silent Hylian stood bare to the skin, surrounded by his discarded clothing. Some of the dried blood started to flake off and fall away, but there seemed to be less on his pale back anyway.

Link picked up the stiff bristle brush and stared at it for a while like he'd forgotten what it was. Gan almost interfered when he started scrubbing himself with it, turning his fair skin angry pink.

But - maybe he needed it. The hunt had done something to him. Maybe this would help. Maybe this was like when the saiev came back from a raid, and they took turns jumping into the oasis with erisfruit on their tongues.

Link stood in the water until there wasn't enough left in the cistern to do more than drip, and still he stood on the punishing metal grate, staring at the wall.

"Enough," said Gan, pushing the door wide open. He collected one of the vast blue towels and draped it over his friend as the First Roc placed the cloak of war on the Exalted Sun in the festival plays. "Whatever happened out there, it's ok now. You're home. You're safe. And I have a surprise for you."

Link turned, a strange, strangled squeak coming from his chapped lips.

"Don't worry, it's a good surprise," he said, pulling him into a fierce hug and leaning in to whisper. "Don't tell anyone, but it's cake. Real, actual, butter-and-honey-and-almonds _cake_."


	68. Sorrows Come Not : 22 : T-11

A somnolent quiet ruled the fog-bound spring morning, denying the light. The damp clung to skin and cloth and grass and rock, until all the world weighed twice what it ought to. Water dripped from his face, from his hair, from his bow, attending his creeping steps with a constant hushed patter.

Any normal bow would be ruined or at best useless in such weather. Link would have preferred to wait for the day to clear, or to take other weapons entirely to meet his opponents alone. But. Gan was proud of his latest invention, and impatient to measure its performance beyond their little target range.

Link crept through the tall marsh grass, listening to the muffled whistling of the sleeping enemy ahead. He couldn't hear Gan behind him anymore. Hopefully it meant he was holding ground, covering his back. Better if he'd stayed behind, safe under the orb - but Gan was stubborn. He wanted to see the intruders for himself, and he wanted to see firsthand how the two models he built compared in a real contest.

Against his better judgment, Link let himself be persuaded. It was so _good_ to see him excited about something again.

To have a little bit of Rajo back.

Except - he wasn't the same person at all. Might never become generous, passionate, brilliant, headstrong _Rajo_ again.

Three years letting this time unspool more or less in a normal fashion, and it still hurt. Link wasn't used to these wounds that persisted, day after unending day, resisting every potion and song and fae benediction. He considered for the thousandth time, perhaps he should sing the ship slower. Buy more time for both of them.

But Gan would notice the seasons move out of sync. He would demand explanations Link could never give him. The necessary elisions were already hard enough.

So he compromised, and started letting him come along sometimes when he patrolled their marsh. Whenever Gan asked him difficult things, he told stories from the time of the moonfall. When even that was too much, he retreated to the room above the bent rudder, on the other side of their fish pond where bits of the lost ship's plating had buckled and torn off.

He rather wished to go there now.

But another nest of lizal had come into their marsh. Better to drive them away soonest, before they fortified their camp. Before Gan could do something reckless. Bad enough he insisted on helping.

A tiny flare of orange flagged to his right. He froze, trying vainly to judge the angle between the haze of banked coals beyond the snoring lizal and this new light.

A faint thwip.

The orange light arced too much for a plain bolt - but too low for a deliberate cloudshot.

Link pressed himself flat into the mud.

The faint glow exploded with a deep, sulphur-scented _thoomp_ and a stinging cloud of splintered wood and hot ash. A heartbeat later the lizal screamed in rage and pain, distorted shadows rising through the fog, swinging their burning spears wildly.

Link rolled to his knees, nocking an arrow. The lizal didn't notice. Yet. He fired.

He fired a second, stood, and fired two more.

Wet, heavy, smacking _thops_ as the broadheads found their marks. He strode through the fog, firing bolt after bolt into the nest. Every shot made him wince at the unfamiliar high-pitched creak of copal and silk and char, the low hum and _thwom_ of twisted brass wire under immense stress. He'd fired the damn thing a hundred times already but he couldn't persuade his body to believe the bizarre weapon wouldn't shatter in his hands.

He kept all his attention on the enemy ahead. He would not think about the incendiary arrow. He would not allow the possibility of Gan advancing so far ahead of the position he should have held. He would not allow that Gan might press the attack.

Step. Sight. Release.

The fog thinned as he neared the crackling fires - one last lizal scrambled in dazed loops, trying to find a safe escape route. It fell with a final wheezing squeak. Four chu wandered among the little fires and the fallen monsters. They hadn't noticed him yet, but they would. He'd prefer a spear against these. Or a glaive. A halberd. A claymore. _Anything_ that would hit hard enough to shred their resilient outer membrane.

Even with his fastest bow, the damn things recovered too quickly to take down so many from this range - and the jelly would ruin every arrow used against them.

A distorted war cry from his right. Too high, with a weird trilling. The chu twisted, their translucent bodies vibrating in resonance with the sound. A tiny flag of orange light at the edge of his vision.

Link pivoted left, sprinting into the heavy fog. He counted breaths, steps, heartbeats, measuring them against the remembered arc of the first. He flung himself into the mud as the incendiary hit. A second followed before his ears even stopped ringing.

A silence.

A whoop of victory from far too close.

Link dragged himself back to his feet. He stalked through the thinning fog, his whole body humming as the bowstring he didn't dare touch. He flipped the arrow in his fist backwards. It would buy his mind an extra second to counter instinct with reason. Maybe even two.

Gan repeated his war cry, dissolving into laughter at the end of it. He paced a victory circuit through the center of the decimated camp, his bow back in its sling, his damp red braids giving back the angry firelight.

"You were supposed to stay back," said Link, despair and rage gnawing on his heart.

Gan laughed, turning with a savage grin. "It worked, didn't it? These swamp fireflowers yield _twice_ the oil, and the native bombflower pollen is waxy enough to resist even this soupy weather. And then! Finding saltpeter in one of the treasure rooms, and-"

"You killed them," said Link, closing his fist on the arrow because he didn't trust himself to put it away.

"Oh, it wasn't _that_ strong of a blast," countered Gan with a dismissive gesture. "Without your deadeye shots we'd never have been able to get the whole camp."

"The _plan_ was to drive them _away_. Not kill them," shouted Link.

Gan raised a brow, his triumphant grin twisting into a wry smirk. "Was it? Do you really think I believe that?"

"It is - we always - it wasn't necessary, ok?" Link stammered, struggling against the inrushing heaviness of his accusation.

"Sure it was. Lizal don't give ground unless they're summoning others," said Gan with a shrug. He carried a cedar pole in his right hand with chilling confidence, a violent young warlord already, proud of his strength. "So these are a different breed than the ones back ho- I mean, I already know how vicious they are. And I've seen the bones."

"Oh," said Link, staring at the carnage because he couldn't bear those piercing golden eyes any longer. "You weren't supposed to."

Gan crossed the emptiness, holding out his hand, his voice strangely soft. "I know you've been taking care of things. I know you're older than me, no matter what you look like. But _I'm_ not a baby either. You don't need to protect me from the truth just because it isn't pretty or nice or soft. Ok?"

"No - but maybe I _want_ to. You're still only nine. But I've already - I've _done_ bad things. So - this? For me, against everything else? I'd rather you didn't have to even _see_ this ugliness, much less have to - to bear the - to do-" stammered Link, queasy and miserable.

"I know," cut in Gan, cupping his shoulder and drawing him into an awkward embrace. It felt so _strange_ being almost the same height again. Last time, that had only lasted a single season, and barely a year in the one before. And he was so _thin_ this time. "It's ok. You do what you have to. But so do I. It's my home too. We should protect it together."

"But," Link began.

"You don't have to be the lone hero all the time," said Gan with a derisive snort, pulling him closer. "What is it you always tell me, hm? This time it will be different?"

"Yeah," whispered Link, fighting back tears.


	69. Sorrows Come Not : 23 : T-10

Twisted hanks of shredded cedar bark smoldered in the crude little hearth, refusing to burn. The flame would win eventually, but for now these fresh bundles only poured fragrant smoke into the cold room.

Gan didn't mind, not really. It stung a little, but that meant he could blame his aching eyes on the green tinder. If Link suspected the truth, he didn't say anything.

Then again, maybe he was hiding his own weaknesses the same way.

"I think it's colder this year," he said, prodding at the fire with his forked stick. "Want another cup of tea?"

"Still full," said Link with a shrug. "I can get more blankets out though. Want to sleep by the fire tonight? I can help move your things."

"Maybe," said Gan, laying aside his stick and leaning over to peer into Link's almost untouched cup. It wasn't even steaming anymore. "Don't be stubborn. Cold tea is gross. I'll get another pot brewing while you get cushions and stuff."

"It's ok, really-" began Link.

Gan caught his wrist and took the cup away from him. "And if you come back with King's Tears on your breath again I'm tying you to the damn mast."

Link recoiled, blue eyes wide with panic. "If I have _what_?"

"I'm not stupid. I know you keep a stash of it somewhere," said Gan, pouring out the cold tea into the steam pot he'd designed into the side of the hearth. It still felt strange to waste water, even after four years. At least this would salvage some of it to soften the harsh winter air.

"No - I mean, what you called it. What a strange thing to call drinking-spirits," said Link too quickly. "Sorry - I didn't know the word before."

Gan frowned. "It's not a word for booze. It's a _kind_ of booze. My people make it whenever there's enough Sun Crown plants flowering. It's kinda important for festivals and rituals and funerals and stuff. It's for purification, and speaking to spirits or ghosts, and for offerings, and for walking the spirit roads, and sometimes it's used as medicine."

"Oh," said Link, his face flooding with pink.

"How did you get so much of it when you don't even know what it is and what it means?" Gan shook his head. "You shouldn't drink it so often - it's too powerful for most avadha, and you're not even half as big as the smallest saiev."

"Sorry," mumbled Link, shrugging off his blanket and getting to his feet. "I got it from - an old friend. I didn't know."

Gan made a rude noise. "Not much of a friend if they didn't teach you basic stuff like that. Majir can make you sick, but too much Tears in your belly _will_ kill you. My sister almost died once because of it."

"Oh," said Link, barely above a whisper.

"It's fine," said Gan with a shrug, busying himself with the kettle. Nabs would be seventeen this spring, because he defied curfew and stole from the healers while they were trying to fix what he'd done to Dira. "Make sure you bring the wolfos fur too."

Gan tidied away the leftover dinner mess. The kettle simmered with a pleasing mumble as he built a layered sleeping pallet out of flat-ish cushions and the itchier blankets. The patchwork white wolfos skins went on the top, and he built a curved sort of wall with fat cushions around the far edge from the hearth.

Link tried to drop the last armload of blankets on the bench and leave. Gan made him take a fresh cup of tea and sit down in front of the fire again.

"Maybe time doesn't mean much to you," said Gan, sweetening his own cup with a heaping spoonful of King's Honey and wondering vaguely if Link knew what _that_ was. "But I've been watching the stars when the weather is good. I can't be sure of the patterns on this side, not yet, but out there, it's about a month to solstice."

"Time is still important. It's just - different," said Link quietly.

"Hn," said Gan, folding himself down onto the wolfos skin next to him. "Unless I lost count, it's four years ago today Angnu died of the red cough. I killed hundreds of my own people that winter. More probably died after I left."

"Oh Gan-" began Link, cracks in his voice.

"I didn't mean for it to happen. I never _meant_ for the accidents to happen either, but that doesn't change that they _did_ ," said Gan, cradling his cup in his hands. "Except the time I tripped the Exalted instead of Roc Avish and she fell into the midden. And the one when I hid cactus thorns in all the teachers' cushions but I really meant just to get _my_ teachers. And when the quarry master triggered the slime bucket I'd set up for the weaving master. _Those_ accidents were _hilarious_."

Link slouched over his tea. "You've never told me those stories before."

"I try not to think about it," said Gan, watching the fire wrap around the smoldering cedar bundles. "Angnu and Dira were a little older, but we were in the same lessons because I got ahead of my yearmates. They might have gone into the sands this year, if not for me. Maybe the elder mothers will let Dira seek their Name anyway. They won't survive the Trials, but maybe as a poe they won't be in pain. Or maybe Murasa will come take them away to play with the other stalkid forever."

Link frowned, testing the heat of his tea with a cautious fingertip. "What happened?"

"A year before I left, we skipped lessons and snuck out to see the horses the raid brought back. All Hylian, not wild. Dira liked the ash gray one best, but he wouldn't get near the fence on his own. So we climbed up, and Dira got to scratch his ears and feed him honeyglass. But they reached too far, and fell. I lost control of the horse."

"So the whole herd panicked," murmured Link into his tea.

"There were lots of accidents like that, and more avadha and criminals vanishing in the sands all the time. It's just how things were," said Gan with a shrug. He felt weirdly numb as he said it, more like reciting dusty old history tales than something that he'd actually seen happen. "I was always different from other ilmaha, and I was so bad at normal stuff everyone called me Hopeless. But my mothers were our Rova - which is like being a chief and a sage and a healer, but all at once - and they let me be their apprentice. I was good at that so I didn't care. They were - like me. Different from everyone else. They weren't nice people either."

Link didn't say anything to that, so they sat in the quiet for a while. The cedar bundles finally caught, flaring high and hot. Link flinched away from the searing brightness, spilling his tea. He hissed curses, trying to brush it off his pale gray trousers. Gan bit his tongue to resist the temptation to soothe his burn by magic. The warrior spirit said it would get easier to be good with practice, but it really didn't.

"Anyways. I wonder sometimes, why my mothers told everyone the plague was my fault. Why they made sure it would get worse. They _wanted_ me to be King. It doesn't make sense," he said, cautiously tasting his own tea.

"Maybe they just wanted everyone to be afraid of you," said Link softly. "Most people were, in the first time."

"Hn," said Gan, squashing the questions that tried to crowd onto his tongue. Link rarely told him anything about that future. If he pushed now, Link might stop talking altogether. "Then they aren't as clever as they think they are. People do stupid things when they're afraid. And they _don't_ listen."

Link shrugged, blue eyes fixed firmly on the fire. "Maybe. I dunno. All the Gerudo I met except one called you _The Great Ganondorf_ pretty much all the time."

"Who was the one?" Gan asked before he could stop himself.

"A lone thief," murmured Link. "She asked if I fought for you. When I told her I didn't, she asked me to spy on your Rova, and bring her something from the temple. She told me you stole from women and children. That you killed people. She alone refused to obey an evil King, and the Rova punished her."

"That doesn't make sense," said Gan, mind racing, trying to imagine who would ever say something so foolish. "Every warrior of the people will do the same if they have to when a raid goes out. And why would she think a _Hylian_ followed _my_ orders? Anyways what did she want you to steal?"

Link shrugged. "Just some silver gauntlets."

"The _moon's fist-?_ " Gan almost spilled _his_ tea. Nabs had been trying to find that relic since forever. "Her spirit gem was amber, wasn't it? And her eyes gold, like mine? Was she wearing the red of the Saiev still? Or the purple and black of a Roc? Tell me the truth."

Link winced. "White, with crooked blue and orange stripes. She had lots of jewelry, I don't remember what color the stones were. But yes, her eyes were gold."

Gan rocked back against the fat cushions, a prayer of thanks on his tongue. He'd turned his back on the cruel gods on the night he learned his terrible fate, but this! Who but the Lady of Sands could show such mercy to a monstrous demon's doomed host? It made his heart ache to hear that even in that disastrous time, Nabooru would defy the fury of the Rova and desecrate the ancient temple of the Lady Herself to fight by his side.

Link hunched further over his tea, mumbling a miserable apology.

"Don't be sorry. This is a good thing. An _amazing_ thing," said Gan, his thoughts racing away in a hundred thousand directions at once. "Do you really have no idea? That _lone thief_ was my older sister. Nabooru avadha Saiev. And that pattern - the sacred gods' teeth. That's not for just anybody you know."

Link shook his head. "I guess I don't know many Geldo things after all."

"Well, yeah. Nabs doesn't like Hylians. Why would she teach _you_ any truth she didn't have to? I mean - even you said we were at _war_ in that time. You were our _enemy_ ," said Gan, scrubbing a hand over his face and struggling to give a damn that his eyes were leaking again. "There are only two stories about those gauntlets, both in the Book of the King. Which - you don't even know that! Mother of Sands - ok, all Geldo are avadha. You know this?"

Link nodded. "Avadha and ilmaha, women and girls. Except one."

"Yes and no. Gods, the Hylian tongue is so _stupid_ ," Gan sipped his tea, trying to weave a sensible answer. "Our laws are different than yours. When an ilmaha is about my age or a little older, they petition the council of elder mothers for leave to seek their Name in the Sands. Sometimes they don't wait for permission, and just _go_. Those ilmaha don't always come back, but the point is - the trials are different for everyone, and on the other side an avadha comes back to us with her Name. But when the Lady of Sands opens the spirit roads to the Trial of the Eight - which is rare as a Sun Crown flower - an ilmaha who dares and not only survives but wins a Name? By our law, he becomes King."

Link frowned. "She said a man is only born every hundred years, and he is king by law. The end."

Gan made a rude noise. "And how many Hylians have you met that would even try to understand our ways? _My_ people don't give you things just because you were born. You have to earn your place in the pattern. That's what the gods' teeth _is_ \- the Great Pattern that drives all others. Our King wears the sacred cloth, and his Exalted, and his closest advisors. Spirit and knowledge, sky and earth, sun and water. They're like - gears on a vast machine. They can't _do_ anything without the other, without the space between, without _power_ -"

"Stop! Please stop - just - stop ok? _Stop_ ," cried Link, his voice raw and broken. He dropped his cup, heedless of the mess, throwing off his blanket and scrambling to his feet.

Gan hurried to unwrap his own blanket and set his tea on the hearth, chasing after him. He caught up in the hall only because Link tripped over a ragged bit in the rug. He wrapped his arms around his haunted friend, trapping him. Gan waited, saying nothing, letting him struggle and weep and yell until he wore himself out. Like Nabs did for him, long ago, when he was very small.

The spirit was right - Link must have _known_ he was fated to rain destruction on everything good and bright the moment he used the Truth Mask, and still tried to befriend him anyway. Without understanding anything important, he looked at a monster and dared to say _you could be a nice person_.

He was so brave.

Gan cursed himself for being so slow to understand the puzzle. The truth of his heart. Link didn't even want to hurt his worst enemy. Gan remembered how the hunt two years ago weighed on him. He'd heard Link startle and shout himself awake from nightmares a thousand times.

But. He'd seen Link fight.

He would still do what he had to.

Gan stroked Link's fine golden hair, and pointed him towards the eating room again. He had to push his exhausted friend along, even after he pulled the door shut to keep the heat in. He managed to make him kneel among the furs and cushions, and dragged the soft blankets over.

"Why," rasped Link.

"It's cold," said Gan, kneeling beside him. "Also, late. You should sleep."

"Not tired," mumbled Link.

"Just lay down then," said Gan with a calculated shrug. "I'll tell you a story Nabs used to tell me when I wasn't tired either."

Link groaned, but let himself be toppled sideways. Gan pulled the blankets up and lay down beside him, propping his head on his fist and planting his other hand in the middle of Link's chest to keep him from getting up. The temptation to pour magic through his fingers grew enormous. Almost as vast and terrible as the temptation to pull the magic into his words and sing his Will into the world again.

 _Once upon a time, in the place where the rivers dance like the moon, in the place that holds the bones of the foolish serpent who tried to eat the sun, there rose a Great King. Hideous, greedy demons beset the People day and night, north and south, east and west, for they wanted nothing better than to hurt whatever was beautiful and destroy whatever they couldn't have._

 _But though the Great King was not a warrior, he was clever. With his right hand he lifted among the People a champion in golden armor and forged for her a vast golden sword._

 _No warrior in the world could defeat her, and only one could match her._

 _Her name was Moon, and she stood at the left hand of the Great King. She wore armor of spotless silver and her great silver axe was a glory to behold…_


	70. Sorrows Come Not : 24 : T-9

Falling.

Always and forever, falling through the gray roiling fog with the buzz of an argument he couldn't quite make out filling his ears.

 _No more-!_

He hit the bed with a painful smack, drenched in sweat. He ached from crown to toe, and his tongue was so dry it hurt to even move it.

"Morning," said Gan from the shadows. "There's tea, and egg pie with mushrooms. Fed the goats already so we can eat in peace."

Link grunted, scrubbing his face with a corner of the blanket. Gan had turned into an early riser again, and damn smug about it.

"C'mon lazybones. Don't want to waste the good weather," said Gan, crossing the room and offering a hand up.

Link pulled a face, but accepted. He felt raw all over and he wanted nothing more than to pour a drink or five down his dry throat and go back to bed.

Gan pressed a mug of strong tea into his hands, shooing him out into the hall at once. He was right - the spring sunlight already glared stupidly bright. He'd have preferred it keep raining, at least till noon. Usually southern Termina was downright sodden in early spring, but if Gan wanted a sunny day badly enough, the weather tended to oblige.

Given his anxious fidgets through breakfast, he probably _did_ want an extra set of hands for some project or other. Link was glad he'd found passion for creating and exploring again - but couldn't he wait until ten? At least?

The tea helped, but he was on his fourth mug and following Gan towards the back of the ship before he realized it wasn't just sugar sweetening his tea.

"There's rum in this," he said, wincing at the hoarseness in his own voice.

Gan shrugged. "Just a little. You woke me up a few times yelling in your sleep last night so I figured you could use it."

Link swore. "Sorry. You - should probably go back to your own room again. It's not as cold as it was and-"

"And let you scream yourself sick half the night? How about no," said Gan with a rude gesture. He took the stairs two at a time, muttering something about the squeaky railing. "Drink your tea."

"You're not the boss of me," grumped Link. He thought about pouring the tea overboard for spite - but it _was_ tasty.

Gan turned at the landing and pulled a ridiculous face.

What could he do but respond in kind?

The project proved to be some weird reed and rawhide boat propped up on cedar runners at the edge of the torn lower deck above their fishpond. Link climbed through the maze of rope to look at it closer. "If you would've just built on the shore you wouldn't need help carrying it."

"We're not carrying it anywhere. I rigged a winch abovedecks too, just in case the first launch isn't perfect. Here, climb in," said Gan, gesturing to the weird boat as he opened one of the wooden crates along the far wall.

Link lifted the edge of the rug draped over half the boat - and jumped back with a curse when a pile of glistening, translucent purple octo guts rose up in his face.

Gan scrambled to trap the inflated guts under the rug again. "Damn stubborn Hylian - get in! Now I need your weight to counter the lift, before it jumps off the track again."

Link stared at the absolutely baffling tethered floating guts as Gan cursed him roundly and heaved a bag into the bottom of the boat. "I didn't realize I'd hunted this many octoroc."

"This isn't even half a barrel. Dammit, at least help balance the load? Loose one more on your side, and slip the pins out," Gan shouted, pulling cedar pins out of the reed frame on his side to free it from the ropes. "Either get in or help me launch it."

"The hell," cried Link, trying to make sense of Gan's design. "The water is forty feet away-!"

Gan made a rude noise. "It's a _twenty_ foot drop at most."

Link ducked under the ropes to look. "Thirty. And there's no possible way it will fall clear the pond wall."

"That's why we're gonna push it," said Gan with a manic grin. "Pull your pins and put your back into it. Or are you _scared_?"

Link threatened him with one of the rough cedar pins as the ropes strained to stabilize the weird boat. "I'm not scared of you or anything. That _doesn't_ make this unstupid."

Gan clucked and crowed at him.

So he pulled the pins and put his shoulder against the stern. The little boat shuddered along the cedar rails, and halfway to the edge Gan urged him to leap into the weird craft and get ready to throw the rug off.

So he did.

The boat lurched off the rails with a stomach churning drop as he hauled the rug off the rest of the inflated bladders. Gan whooped victory as the weird little craft bobbed and jerked through the air with clusters of inflated octo bladders tied to every rib. He grabbed a fistful of bladders from under another rug and leapt from the deck before Link could manage more than a shriek of denial.

Half the octo guts burst under Gan's weight, but he just barely caught the edge of the floating boat. It rocked violently, threatening to throw them both overboard, but Gan only yelled for him to take the bladders and tie them through onto the stern. Once his hands were free he pulled himself into the boat and set to inflating more bladders from the bag. They raced to get more tied as the boat jostled away from their ship, sinking ever closer to the water.

One of the guts burst, and another beside it. Link hurried to tie a fresh one in its place, but two more went on the same side. Gan yelled at him, and he yelled at Gan. The boat tilted further, ropes straining. Gan leaned against the rising side, desperately trying to untie a bundle of bladders.

Then the cluster at the prow broke.

They both hit the water mid-yell. Link flailed through the murky water, trying to regain his wind and find Gan and smother his panic all at once. _He_ could swim well enough, but Gan-

"It worked-! Look at it go," cried Gan, his triumph apparently not at all dimmed by the fact he was still spitting water.

"You absolute raving lunatic," Link shouted, striking towards him. The water behind the ship lay at least two fathoms deep, maybe more after the heavy rains. Gan seemed to be keeping his chin above the surface - for now.

"Maybe - but _look_ how far we got," cried Gan, turning and bobbing in the water, clawing wet curls out of his eyes with one hand and gesturing towards the ship with the other.

"Din's fire what is _wrong_ with you? You're swimming the wrong way," shouted Link, diving under the surface and pouring all his strength into a mad dash forward.

Gan kicked off further, from perversity or spite, keeping himself out of reach. He caught Link's arm before he could fix his grip and hauled him to the surface, laughing. "Look - it's still going. We can't go back to the ship _now_ or we'll never catch it in time. Come on-"

"In time for what?" Link spluttered, glancing back at their ship. Nearly a hundred yards already. _He_ could make it back easily from here - but he wasn't sure he could tow Gan back in this body if they went any farther. _Why_ did he let himself be talked into this?

"Ha-! There goes another balloon," said Gan, pointing at the empty boat. Without them in it, the whole thing had risen back into the air, but with every failing bladder it dipped down again. "Pretty sure all the ones at the front popped before it dumped us though. Come on - we gotta catch it."

"We can build another - let's go back," said Link, catching at his sash.

"And waste half a year's work? Not on your life," said Gan, kicking out after his flying boat. He wasn't terribly fast or graceful, but he was determined to stay on this mad course.

So Link followed.

The wind carried the boat another fifty yards before the last bundles of octo guts gave way. They were still ten yards away when it hit the water sideways. Gan swore, pushing himself even harder - but he simply didn't have the speed. Link dove beneath the surface and shot ahead of him, but the craft still tipped upside down before he reached it. He shoved it upright and wound a fistful of tethers around his arm, turning about to tow it.

The boat mocked his efforts, first refusing to move at all, then bumping painfully against his back and hip and shoulder.

Gan whooped victory from somewhere between him and their ship. Link tried to aim for his noise, focused only on the work. Nothing could be allowed to exist but the next stroke, the next breath, until the whole boat rocked violently and he managed to lose hold of the tethers.

"Get _in_ stupid," groaned Gan, bending over the edge to catch his hand. "Why would you swim when you have a boat in your damn hand?"

Link let himself be hauled into the craft, sprawling on his back across the woven cedarbark benches bracing the middle of the narrow boat. It sat worrisomely low, but Gan showed not the slightest concern for taking on water. He busied himself with freeing the long oar from their harnesses against the inside ribs.

"We are _not_ doing that again," rasped Link when he could breathe again. He gestured to encompass the boat and everything.

"Maybe not _today_ ," said Gan with a broad grin. "I need to build a machine to fill the bladders for the next launch. I hope you haven't eaten all the honeyglass, cause that was _gross_."

Link groaned, laying his arm over his eyes as Gan settled in to paddle them back to the shipwreck, idly humming a few bars of a weirdly familiar reel. He couldn't quite place the tune, but its playful lilt somehow suited the mischief of the whole disastrous experiment. "You and machines. Why do we need a flying boat anyway?"

"Why not?" Gan returned with a charming shrug.


	71. Sorrows Come Not : 25 : T-9

The weather continued fine for weeks, clear and bright in the morning, with enough rain every evening to keep the marsh ponds overflowing. Saltgrass and sweetgrass and reeds alike climbed higher every day, and every bird in the whole swamp forgot how to go to bed at night.

The flying boat continued to spectacularly refuse to work. They emptied three more barrels of octo guts attempting to launch from the upper deck after he realized the damned things would inflate _themselves_ when secured to a falling object of sufficient weight.

Moving the launch runners took most of a week, but it was worth it. Gan doubled the length of the rails and turned the whole into a sort of curved ramp. It took a few tests to get the angle right, but that design almost tripled their distance.

"The main problem I think is still the bladders," he said, picking his teeth with a fishbone. "Even with the wind-up bellows test, not one survived a half hour."

Link grunted, considering over another bite of fish. "How many are left?"

"Couple bushels," said Gan with a shrug. "Enough for another flight or two."

Link whistled, tossing the spiny fins into the fire. "No idea I'd hunted so many."

"I might have helped," said Gan, poking at the next batch of fish. Not quite flaking yet, but even after three helpings, the scent of roasting peppers and citron and hot basil oil made his mouth water. He felt a little guilty enjoying the spoils of some stranger's deep misfortune, but surely letting it rot in the marsh would be worse. Whoever's ship lost forty barrels of Gerudo trade goods over the side was surely far away by now. Or sunk.

High tide brought all manner of things into their marsh, but the biggest finds were always a couple days after a hard storm. This particular wreckage though, they found just a few days ago, caught in a pond a half-hour's launch hard astern of their ship.

Link licked his fingers clean and poured himself another cup of tea. "Sneaky bastard."

Gan shrugged. "I found a spawning ground near that abandoned shrine. Set up a string of lures and nets in the rain, empty and reset when it's clear and bright. Why spend all day hunting something when a couple good traps will do as well?"

Link grunted, prodding the edge of the coals with a pensive look. "What if your net caught something innocent though?"

"If it was dumb enough to fall for my lure, then it was dumb enough to get caught by an octo," said Gan, sliding bits of roast fish and peppers into his bowl. "Does it matter whether it was my net or a beast's maw if it was doomed either way?"

"Just because a creature isn't smart or lucky doesn't mean it deserves to die," said Link to the fire.

"It's not about deserving or not, good or bad. It's just part of the Great Pattern," said Gan, savoring the burn of pepper oil on his tongue. "Dig a well today, lose the oasis tomorrow. Don't dig _any_ wells, and throw a thousand lives upon the mercy of the Sands."

Link said nothing, prodding a coal away from the fire, turning it with his stick, and poking it back in.

Gan let him be, and concentrated on his dinner. When he couldn't make himself eat another bite, he strode across the sandbar to wash his hands and face in the stream. He stood in the darkness between ship and firelight, measuring the distant stars.

Five years and four months in this soggy wilderness, give or take a few weeks, and the absence of the wandering fire stretching across the night sky still felt strange. He missed its undulating beauty, the subtle feeling of its power weaving through the world.

The temptation to taste the magic of this foreign land, to let it flow through him and become something new - it never left him. No matter how tightly he bound his magic under chains of will and fury, the yearning never diminished. He wondered if he would have been able to bear it at all, if he could still see the wandering fire weaving through the night.

A wild part of him wondered if Nabooru ever looked for him at the observatory cave. If she found his failed potions, his stolen books, the few provisions he'd left behind. What she believed of him, of his soul, of his strength in this time. If she knew or guessed what he truly was. If she went to the Temple to seek the Moon's Fist after he vanished. If she waited for his return. If she ever wondered after his fate. If she ever left her rest to watch the stars and the wandering fire through the ancient glass eye as he once did.

If in fact the wandering fire still appeared.

Gan shoved down the thought, returning to the gentle mumbling red-orange warmth of the dying fire. Link still sat in silent half-lotus at the edge of the rug, his blue eyes fixed somewhere beyond the embers. Gan folded himself down beside him, scrunching down a little so their shoulders met. He wondered if Link would ever get taller, or if using the blue time magic fixed his body forever in the shape he held when he first used it.

"It won't rain tonight," said Gan at last. No matter how he tried, or how well he resisted reaching for them, he still couldn't stop _feeling_ the currents of forbidden magic moving around him. "Let's just stay out here. The breeze is nice."

Link shrugged. "Probably be easier to haul the boat back up in the morning."

"Setting the winch hook and grapple is a little tricky in the dark," agreed Gan. "I was just thinking it's been a while since it was warm enough and dry enough to sleep in the open."

"I'll get cushions," said Link, bracing himself to stand.

Gan stopped him with a hand on his back. "No need. It's fine like this."

Link looked up at him, frowning. "I actually _wasn't_ trying to sneak a drink if that's what you mean."

"I know," said Gan, draping his arm over Link's shoulders. "It's just - today was a good day, and I guess I'm not done with it yet. Our best flight so far too."

"I - can hunt some more octo tomorrow. But I don't think the flying boat is ever going to work," said Link with a worried look.

"Probably not," agreed Gan. "Fun though."

Link blinked up at him. "Even though it's more of a falling boat?"

"No, a falling boat is if we made all the balloons pop at once," said Gan with his best teacher-voice. "This design was more of a _splashing_ boat."

Link snorted. "Sometimes I wonder if you should have been born a cat, acting like you meant it to happen that way all along."

"You can't prove I didn't," teased Gan.


	72. Sorrows Come Not : 26 : T-8

The windless summer heat laid so heavy over the marsh Link imagined he could _see_ the clinging stink of the dye vats. Over the last few years they'd packed a dozen crates each with onionskins and dried beet stalks and bluebean leaves and salvaged pots of precious powdered dyestuff, and finally Gan declared his recipes ready to test on grand scale.

Link always arranged for barrels of wool and linen cloth to drift into the marsh, but Gan continued tinkering with his looms anyway. So he planted crates of washed fleece wherever he found traces of lizal incursions, and hid braids of combed wool in one or another pile of old stuff in the hold. He dragged chests of plain yarn through the river of time, a little surprised how much he'd spun for nothing more than idle make-work, once he saw it all piled in the same place.

Gan sorted the yarn according to an order known only to him, and now the better half of it stewed in one or another noxious potion. Link wasn't sure he wanted to repeat such a fragrant or messy process ever again - but he wasn't sure sabotaging the batch would deter Gan at all. At least he'd agreed to set up the dye vats on a different island.

Even so, Link arranged stolen incense in every room belowdecks and tried to have as little to do with the process as possible. Which unfortunately meant getting talked into hammering gold wire into flat strips while Gan argued with the grammar of some old textbook and scribbled notes into a wax tablet. He hadn't bothered sharing what the wire was for, but when did Gan ever explain himself?

Link tried to be glad of Gan's innocent hobbies. He understood the need to always to be busy - and now he had every possible evidence that Gan's most essential nature drove him to master the world around him. Whatever tools he had or hadn't, whether he embraced or denied his magic, his golden eyes sought after the very levers and switches by which the world moved. He needed to know the how and the why underneath things other people took for granted.

But Link knew too well how small the step between knowing and using.

He _really_ shouldn't have overlooked the bookshelf in the old wheelhouse. Or the broken desk in the ancient captain's cabin.

Link unwound another length of gold wire, passing it through the candleflame. He tried not to wonder too hard what Gan wanted with four hundred feet of flattened wire and two thousand glass beads smaller than grains of sweet rice.

He should never have established a tradition of gifts from the 'warrior spirit' on summer solstice, either. At first it was enough to bring food from his homeland. Ready-made clothes to replace things worn or outgrown. Beads. Toys. Sweets.

Now, for the second year in a row, Gan went in secret to the fairy's shrine and begged her to send the spirit with more books. He made offerings of beautiful calligraphy on smooth stones and strips of bright cloth, bottles of preserved food and salvaged treasures. None of it convinced the fairy that Gan belonged to the Light this time. She still saw only the stain of his fate, his potential for corruption.

So Link took the secret offerings away, and tucked them into the lost grotto with all the rest of the things he dared not let Gan discover in this life.

Last year, he just bought a whole chest of old books from Ensren without really reading the titles. Somehow he'd expected them to be mundane - children's wondertales, husbandry guides, carpentry plans, memoirs of this or that farmer, diseases of cucco.

Some of them were.

He merely realized far too late that Ensren's interest in obscure languages and machines and occult wisdom in the other times hadn't actually been Gan's fault at all. Apparently.

This year, Gan had taken one of the dusty lexicons to the shrine. The fairy said he promised a hundred diamonds and a thousand engravings of the warrior spirit's true name if he would bring a chest full of books about the script mentioned in the fourth chapter, and the people who produced it. Link argued with his better judgment, and drank, and argued some more. But in the end, he took that book back to Ensren, along with a priceless bottle of Tears, and asked for help.

Ensren asked very few questions, but every one felt like a red-hot blade. He promised nothing - but he confirmed the oath Gan swore to be a grave one. For a handful of _books_.

How could he deny Gan a small happiness he craved so badly?

So he gave Ensren a little casket of golden rupees hidden under a layer of red, begged him to exclude any about magic, and bought all the applejack Corfo could be persuaded to sell.

And now he hammered gold wire while Gan devoured his birthday presents.

Around the fourth hour, Gan swore, throwing his reed stylus down and slamming the book shut. He spat curses at it and stormed out, ignoring Link's half-voiced questions. He grumbled his way down the hall, banging cabinets in the kitchen. Link finished hammering the length he'd softened and tried to persuade himself it didn't mean anything. Gan always went into new things expecting to conquer them easily. Better he vent his frustration at pots and pans than - other things.

To his surprise, Gan returned in short order to thump down a tray of honeycakes and cold cider and sugar-roasted nuts and one of his own jugs of applejack. Gan dragged a cushion over, balancing a narrow sourwood frame across his lap. He set a fat bobbin of silk buttonhole twist on the table and poured mixed cups of cider for both of them - the balance nearly inverse for each.

"Don't look so sour," said Gan, gesturing with his cup of mostly-cider. "This isn't any stronger than majir."

Link pulled a face, stirring the surface of his mostly-applejack with a fingertip. "That doesn't make it good for you."

Gan made a rude noise. "I'm just as old as you pretend to be and _I_ have no intention of ruining my appetite with it. Anyways it's my birthday month _and_ I have a headache from staring at that amazingly awful spelling all day. So there."

"First it was a day, then a week, now you will claim a whole _month_ of special rules?" Link rolled his eyes, setting aside his work. "And cake isn't exactly practical food."

"Admit it, doing things my way _is_ more fun," said Gan airily, eating a wedge of honeycake with his fingers.

Link groaned and lifted his cup.

"Anyways, small work like this is easier if you can't think about it too much. It'll be worth it though," said Gan, licking his fingers clean. "Don't give me that look - anyone who can forget they've spun that much warp yarn _has_ to understand that."

"Not like I made it all yesterday or anything," said Link, ashamed of the heat rising in his face as the memory of the first spinning lesson roared into his mind. "I didn't mean to make it _for_ anything in particular either. It's just something a friend taught me, long ago."

"Hn," said Gan, setting aside his cup and tying the button twist onto one side of the frame. "You miss them a lot, don't you?"

"Yes and no," said Link, leaning back against the cool metal wall. "I miss a thing that never really was. It's stupid."

Gan shrugged, winding four times around the wood and deftly cinching another tidy knot in line with the first. "It existed for _you_. That still counts, even if the blue magic unraveled it after. This whole ship will unravel at once if you hit the bluestone orb again. That won't make six years unhappen, you know?"

Link winced, wondering if Gan was reading his dreams again. "It's worse than that. We could never have _been_ friends for even one winter if either of us knew the whole truth at the beginning."

"Don't be so sure," said Gan, not looking up from his strange project. "You haven't figured out what we're building yet, have you?"

Link shrugged and sipped his applejack. "A machine of some sort?"

"Well _obviously_ ," said Gan, rolling his eyes.


	73. Sorrows Come Not : 27 : T-7

In the fourth hour after nadir on the longest night of the seventh year, a brazen owl roosted on the gunwale directly above the bedroom and made a nuisance of itself. Gan already lay awake as usual, but the noise made it hard to think clearly, and that annoyed him.

He would try to rest, but most nights he couldn't stop himself from thinking long enough to actually fall asleep unless he was exhausted. He would doze off for an hour or two only to awake for small and stupid sounds that may never have even happened outside his own head - footsteps or clicking beads or shimmering bells or scraping steel or imagined voices. It was usually easier to block that out in the winter, with Link beside him and the fire murmuring in the stove.

Link worried that he ruined Gan's sleep with his nightmares, but the truth was they _both_ slept more easily when they shared blankets for warmth. The _really_ bad nights mostly happened in the warmer months, when they went back to separate rooms. Even if Link did start to thrash or babble, most of the time a few words and a gentle touch was enough to guide him out of it and back to sleep. Those little victories helped quiet his own mind, and even the simple task of bringing Link back to the now from one of the bad nights gave him another tiny sip of _purpose_.

Gan didn't like the silence much - stupid small noises seemed so much louder then. Memories and failures too often came to gnaw at him when he was alone without some work, some puzzle to occupy him. Half the time when he startled out of sleep at Link's side it was for the same reason he lay awake now: because Link was _too_ quiet. He hadn't even twitched when the owl began its tirade.

Seven years, and he felt the same hollow tension every time he had to reach across the darkness to find out if his friend still breathed.

It didn't help that Link's pale skin was always weirdly cold. Gan held his own breath and closed his ears to the furious owl, pressing his hand flat to Link's thin chest, and still couldn't be certain. He sought the tender pulse-points at the base of Link's throat, but he couldn't swear beyond all doubt it wasn't his own heartbeat in his fingers betraying him. Chaos pricked at the inside of his skin as he pulled himself closer, lowering his ear against that too-still chest and still Link did not stir.

But he breathed.

Gan exhaled slowly, silently. The chaos sank away into nothing. For now.

Which of course meant his stomach rumbled. Gan swore at it, but it only growled again. Outside, the owl cursed the world. A part of his mind suggested the shrill featherhead might somehow be kin to his irreverent guts, and it too was furious about being hungry at all hours.

Link said it was only because he was growing so much this year, and he was probably right. The year before the warrior spirit came for him, Nabs had been the same way. But warriors ate better than anyone except the council and the Rocs. Even the fortress guard had to wait for the Saiev to eat their fill.

What would he have eaten, as a demon prince?

Gan shook off the thought and slipped out from under the blankets. He took a moment by the fire to stuff his feet in his sheepskin indoor boots and shrug into his plain lopsided caftan. The twill weave had smoothed out some of the irregularities in the yarn, but each narrow panel had come out a slightly different size. Link finally stirred when he added another log to the fire, rolling onto his side and mumbling something about wolves. Gan watched him drag his fingers over one pale cheek with a deep frown, and drop right back into oblivion.

The owl's fury followed him down the frigid corridor to the kitchen. He shoved food in his face until his stomach shut up without bothering to pay attention to what he was eating, washing it down with a few cups of warm cider. He wiped down the table and stacked empty bottles in the washing trough, and _still_ the owl screamed at the darkness.

Rather than return to bed to stare at the shadows and wish a swift end on the damn bird, Gan retreated to his workroom and dug out his trunk of ancient ship's books. He'd found them while Link was hunting, years ago, and forgotten to mention them.

He hadn't really _meant_ to keep them secret. Link had been with him when they found the map books, and the one that looked like a ledger of some kind in the long drawer of the ancient desk in the biggest cabin. He couldn't read the small volumes any more than the large, so he'd packed them safely in a better chest in his workroom and forgot about them until the day he saw the same script in one of the books the warrior spirit left for him.

Even then, it took a year to figure out how to use a single known inscription to transcribe a handful of signs from the ancient angular script to the Old High Hylian syllabary. Months later, Gan realized the structure actually transliterated more easily to his native tongue. He picked the book with the most drawings inside, and spent hundreds of sleepless nights filling an half a quarto journal with the resulting manuscript. He left all the facing pages blank in hopes of managing an actual translation later.

So far he'd learned maybe a thousand words. On a few pages he'd managed to translate whole sentences, usually about terribly mundane things that told him almost nothing about the ancient author except that they collected bugs, prayed a lot, and didn't much like fish.

He opened his quarto journal where he'd left off last time, and settled in to comb through the text for anything else he _could_ translate. If he ever managed to untangle even one full journal, _then_ he could show these to Link. He needed to know what they meant first. Whether the books belonged to the days before the ship ran aground, or someone who found the rusty hulk long after.

Gan tended to lean toward the first theory. The ancient letters bore enough resemblance to the scattered inscriptions on the ship itself that at least the book and ship seemed to be closer in age than the book was to Old High Hylian. Fascinating - and frustrating. He no longer doubted the ship's books were written in some early form of Hylian, or at least one of its ancestors. If only he could decipher it-!

Gan sat back from his work, rubbing his cold hands together and debating lighting the stove in here too. He hoped the books would someday tell him more about the ship than the bugs who landed on it. _Then_ he could show Link. Maybe he would be happy if he knew for certain the last captain of this ship had also manipulated the rivers of time. Maybe there would even be something that explained what the enchanted bluestone actually _was_ , where it came from, why the warrior spirit said its powers belonged to the Light.

Not that he had any real evidence to the contrary. And so far the particular, greedy voice in his mothers' blue demonstone hadn't found him here. But was that enough to call it _good_? When had the blue magic ever protected Link, who not only lived in it but served it?

— _15, — of Our Lady of Light 75_

 _Had the dream again. — was_ _nearly done — the new —. Pray — won't notice and Hylia forgive my —. Need to fly back to the Sacred — alone. — said her power would — him, but that's been said before, and — before. And this time - Zelda isn't going to come back_. _Pray it's only a dream._


	74. Sorrows Come Not : 28 : T-6

Another crisp autumn morning, another nest of lizal to eliminate. Every year, more monsters sniffing around the edges of the swampland. They shouldn't be able to cross the boundary of the ship's orb, but Link didn't want them getting close enough to test that.

He could almost pity the savage creatures. They could probably smell the orb's active magic on the wind, and their very nature demanded they hunt the source. They didn't choose to be that way. The more intelligent, demon-bound ones might even know or suspect they would find their king in this place, all because _he_ was too soft to make Gan stay within the orb's field at all times.

Eight years was a long time to live in the confines of the ancient shipwreck, howsoever well appointed it might be now. The forest spirit village that raised _him_ wasn't any bigger, but that was one grove out of the whole forest, and everywhere under the Green had been his playground. He knew from the day he could walk that dangers lurked in the deep forest, but until the guardian tree fell sick, he never saw anything worse than a mischievous skullkid or carnivorous weeds or an annoyed deku or a scurry of clinging morth.

Monsters were supposed to _avoid_ the Light unless they were being forced to attack it by a demon strong enough to compel them against their nature. Constant incursions like this - something Dark was luring them here.

"Hey short stuff," said Gan, snapping his fingers inches from his nose. "You didn't hear a thing I said, did you?"

"I was listening. Incendiary arrows, rock flinger on the boat," said Link, scrubbing a hand over his face and dragging his wandering thoughts back into order.

"That was five minutes ago and what I _said_ was: I want to _replace_ the rock flinger," groaned Gan. He rocked back on his bench, making the wood creak worrisomely. He'd started to regain a little bulk, his shoulders too wide and biceps too thick for any of his sleeved tunics again. And he still had a few seasons yet to reach his full height.

"You don't eat enough," blurted Link.

"I eat plenty. Don't change the subject," said Gan, thumping his elbows on the table as he leaned forward again, indifferent to the distress of the innocent furniture. "We need to test the cannon, learn its range, its speed. But with two lizal nests and a sounder of blin within a day of us, they _will_ hear it. One blast might not be enough for them to find our position, but we need at least eight test shots before we can use it in battle."

"So we don't use it this time. That's fine," said Link with a shrug. "I've kinda done this before. It'll be fine. You stay on the boat with the bow, and I'll go in to clear each camp. And no, you _don't_ eat properly, or you wouldn't be this skinny."

"I'm a foot and a half taller than I was last winter, what do you expect? Was I fourteen when you saw me in the before? Then shut up about shit you don't know and focus on the plan," snapped Gan, narrowing his intense golden eyes.

"Why do we need some elaborate _plan_? It's just lizal," said Link, pouring a little more applejack in his cup.

"That kind of attitude will get you killed, and then where will we be? Never underestimate your enemy," said Gan, jabbing his finger against the map he'd spread over the table. "And it's a mixed raidgroup this time. Lizal don't make allies outside their kind without damn good reason, and _moblin_ aren't swamp creatures. They can't swim, and the damp will rot their hooves."

"That doesn't make sense. There's wild cattle living in the marsh and they do fine," said Link, hoping the applejack would disguise how badly this talk unsettled him. He should never have allowed Gan to join him on any patrols ever. His enthusiasm - and talent - for violence should never have been given the opportunity to surface.

"Well if they're anything like the drawings in - I mean, when I was little I read a lot about animals, you know? They probably have different hooves than blin, or they're immune to the rot or something. Stop trying to distract me," said Gan.

"Sorry," said Link, cheeks burning.

"The point is," said Gan, lacing his fingers together. "We _need_ to test the cannon if we're going to take out this many without having to retreat here and throw off a siege. So you _have_ to do the test firing in a way they _can't_ hear. Do you understand?"

"Not really," said Link, but he didn't like the implication at all. If he was using the ranged weapon, what would _Gan_ be doing?

"I mean, you have to use the flute. No - listen first. Remember the day we met, in the snow? Freeze the world just like that, and fire the cannon at the targets I've built, until you get a feel for the range, the arc, the time. Wait after the last shot, or move into position _here_ , and start time again. They'll either never hear at all, or the explosions will all seem to go off at once," said Gan. "I'll be in the hide boat flanking this camp, watching for the smoke. I'll hit them with my incendiaries from behind when they turn about to investigate."

Link frowned. "I don't like this plan."

"Don't be stubborn. It's just a pincer variant," said Gan with a dismissive gesture. He moved tokens around the map without looking down at them as he continued. "The other camps will see me as the immediate threat, and you can pick off at least half a dozen while they're advancing on me."

"That's even worse. I don't want you that close to the monsters _or_ the blasts," said Link.

"You never want me doing _anything_ \- but there's no way you can take down this many alone before they can summon reinforcements from their main nests or whatever. You will follow _my_ plan this time - it is the only way we can leverage an acceptable degree of force to defeat them. You don't have a choice," said Gan coldly.

"There's _always_ another way," said Link, his heart twisting in his sorry chest. "There is always a choice."

"If you hadn't delayed the cannon tests we wouldn't _be_ in this position," said Gan, thumping his palm on the table so hard their cups rattled and threatened to splash. "Using that damn flute at all is bad enough but so help me - if I get out there and I see the smallest sign you've gone behind my back to execute them while they're frozen-"

"Or else _what_?" Link growled pushing back from the table. "Jealous I'll steal your share of the bloodletting?"

"You want demons coming out here? Because that's how you get demons," Gan shouted back. "Evil calls to evil, and stopping time so you can outright murder two dozen sentient creatures who can't sense you, can't fight you, can't escape you-"

"And how is a cannon any different? How is destroying them with twenty pounds of powdered bombflower from fifty yards away any _less_ evil than-"

"It's _completely_ different," shouted Gan. "Maybe you haven't bothered to study nonhumans but _I have_. We are outnumbered at least three to one and outweighed by twice that if the only weapons in play were _blades_. Which they aren't. They have the same capacity to use advanced weaponry as us."

"So I should just let them come then," said Link, sick to his stomach. "Let them poison the water and tear up the grazing islands and eat all the fish and fowl for twenty miles, because they _might_ have bombs? Let you walk your ass into their line of sight alone, or else _I'm_ the bad guy?"

"You deliberately misunderstand, as always. Stupid, short-sighted Hylian - I have no hesitation whatsoever leveraging the force necessary to defend our home," said Gan, pushing to his feet even as he dropped his voice. "That godsforgotten bluestone flute is another thing entirely, stripping all choice and even chance from your victims. Using that _thing_ as a weapon isn't defense, it's murder."

"Since when are _you_ concerned about moral-" began Link

"Since forever," cut in Gan, clenching his hands into fists. "And if you don't understand that? Then you don't know me at all."

Link stared up at him, completely at a loss. He was so tall already, and his voice had begun to deepen too. His long red hair still hung loose, damp from the bath. The warm glow of the amber light crystals shimmered through his curls, and for a moment Link could see the image of the flamboyant Evil King overlaying the gaunt, angry teenager before him.

"I know enough to know this is a dangerous path for you," murmured Link.

"Every path is dangerous," said Gan coldly. "It is still my choice to make."


	75. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 29

Another crisp autumn morning, another nest of lizal to eliminate. Every year, more monsters sniffing around the edges of the swampland. They shouldn't be able to cross the boundary of the ship's orb, but Link didn't want them getting close enough to test that.

He could almost pity the savage creatures. They could probably smell the orb's active magic on the wind, and their very nature demanded they hunt the source. They didn't choose to be that way. The more intelligent, demon-bound ones might even know or suspect they would find their king in this place, all because _he_ was too soft to make Gan stay within the orb's field at all times.

Eight years was a long time to live in the confines of the ancient shipwreck, howsoever well appointed it might be now. The forest spirit village that raised _him_ wasn't any bigger, but that was one grove out of the whole forest, and everywhere under the Green had been his playground. He knew from the day he could walk that dangers lurked in the deep forest, but until the guardian tree fell sick, he never saw anything worse than a mischievous skullkid or carnivorous weeds or an annoyed deku or a scurry of clinging morth.

Monsters were supposed to _avoid_ the Light unless they were being forced to attack it by a demon strong enough to compel them against their nature. Constant incursions like this - something Dark was luring them here.

"Hey short stuff," said Gan, snapping his fingers inches from his nose. "You didn't hear a thing I said, did you?"

"I was listening. Incendiary arrows, rock flinger on the boat," said Link, scrubbing a hand over his face and dragging his wandering thoughts back into order.

"That was five minutes ago and what I _said_ was: I want to _replace_ the rock flinger," groaned Gan. He rocked back on his bench, making the wood creak worrisomely. He'd started to regain a little bulk, his shoulders too wide and biceps too thick for any of his sleeved tunics again. And he still had a few seasons yet to reach his full height.

"You don't eat enough," blurted Link.

"I eat plenty. Don't change the subject," said Gan, thumping his elbows on the table as he leaned forward again, indifferent to the distress of the innocent furniture. "We need to test the cannon, learn its range, its speed. But with two lizal nests and a sounder of blin within a day of us, they _will_ hear it. One blast might not be enough for them to find our position, but we need at least eight test shots before we can use it in battle."

"So we don't use it this time. That's fine," said Link with a shrug. "I've kinda done this before. It'll be fine. You stay on the boat with the bow, and I'll go in to clear each camp. And no, you _don't_ eat properly, or you wouldn't be this skinny."

"I'm a foot and a half taller than I was last winter, what do you expect? Was I fourteen when you saw me in the before? Then shut up about shit you don't know and focus on the plan," snapped Gan, narrowing his intense golden eyes.

"Why do we need some elaborate _plan_? It's just lizal," said Link, pouring a little more applejack in his cup.

"That kind of attitude will get you killed, and then where will we be? Never underestimate your enemy," said Gan, jabbing his finger against the map he'd spread over the table. "And it's a mixed raidgroup this time. Lizal don't make allies outside their kind without damn good reason, and _moblin_ aren't swamp creatures. They can't swim, and the damp will rot their hooves."

"That doesn't make sense. There's wild cattle living in the marsh and they do fine," said Link, hoping the applejack would disguise how badly this talk unsettled him. He should never have allowed Gan to join him on any patrols ever. His enthusiasm - and talent - for violence should never have been given the opportunity to surface.

"Well if they're anything like the drawings in - I mean, when I was little I read a lot about animals, you know? They probably have different hooves than blin, or they're immune to the rot or something. Stop trying to distract me," said Gan.

"Sorry," said Link, cheeks burning.

"The point is," said Gan, lacing his fingers together. "We _need_ to test the cannon if we're going to take out this many without having to retreat here and throw off a siege. So you _have_ to do the test firing in a way they _can't_ hear. Do you understand?"

"Not really," said Link, but he didn't like the implication at all. If he was using the ranged weapon, what would _Gan_ be doing?

"I mean, you have to use the flute. No - listen first. Remember the day we met, in the snow? Freeze the world just like that, and fire the cannon at the targets I've built, until you get a feel for the range, the arc, the time. Wait after the last shot, or move into position _here_ , and start time again. They'll either never hear at all, or the explosions will all seem to go off at once," said Gan. "I'll be in the hide boat flanking this camp, watching for the smoke. I'll hit them with my incendiaries from behind when they turn about to investigate."

Link frowned. "I don't like this plan."

"Don't be stubborn. It's just a pincer variant," said Gan with a dismissive gesture. He moved tokens around the map without looking down at them as he continued. "The other camps will see me as the immediate threat, and you can pick off at least half a dozen while they're advancing on me."

"That's even worse. I don't want you that close to the monsters _or_ the blasts," said Link.

"You never want me doing _anything_ \- but there's no way you can take down this many alone before they can summon reinforcements from their main nests or whatever. You will follow _my_ plan this time - it is the only way we can leverage an acceptable degree of force to defeat them. You don't have a choice," said Gan coldly.

"There's _always_ another way," said Link, his heart twisting in his sorry chest. "There is always a choice."

"If you hadn't delayed the cannon tests we wouldn't _be_ in this position," said Gan, thumping his palm on the table so hard their cups rattled and threatened to splash. "Using that damn flute at all is bad enough but so help me - if I get out there and I see the smallest sign you've gone behind my back to execute them while they're frozen-"

"Or else _what_?" Link growled pushing back from the table. "Jealous I'll steal your share of the bloodletting?"

"You want demons coming out here? Because that's how you get demons," Gan shouted back. "Evil calls to evil, and stopping time so you can outright murder two dozen sentient creatures who can't sense you, can't fight you, can't escape you-"

"And how is a cannon any different? How is destroying them with twenty pounds of powdered bombflower from fifty yards away any _less_ evil than-"

"It's _completely_ different," shouted Gan. "Maybe you haven't bothered to study nonhumans but _I have_. We are outnumbered at least three to one and outweighed by twice that if the only weapons in play were _blades_. Which they aren't. They have the same capacity to use advanced weaponry as us."

"So I should just let them come then," said Link, sick to his stomach. "Let them poison the water and tear up the grazing islands and eat all the fish and fowl for twenty miles, because they _might_ have bombs? Let you walk your ass into their line of sight alone, or else _I'm_ the bad guy?"

"You deliberately misunderstand, as always. Stupid, short-sighted Hylian - I have no hesitation whatsoever leveraging the force necessary to defend our home," said Gan, pushing to his feet even as he dropped his voice. "That godsforgotten bluestone flute is another thing entirely, stripping all choice and even chance from your victims. Using that _thing_ as a weapon isn't defense, it's murder."

"Since when are _you_ concerned about moral-" began Link

"Since forever," cut in Gan, clenching his hands into fists. "And if you don't understand that? Then you don't know me at all."

Link stared up at him, completely at a loss. He was so tall already, and his voice had begun to deepen too. His long red hair still hung loose, damp from the bath. The warm glow of the amber light crystals shimmered through his curls, and for a moment Link could see the image of the flamboyant Evil King overlaying the gaunt, angry teenager before him.

"I know enough to know this is a dangerous path for you," murmured Link.

"Every path is dangerous," said Gan coldly. "It is still my choice to make."


	76. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 30

Rain pattered against the sailcloth canopy, whispering down the slopes and valleys to spill onto the deck below. Link watched it splash, wondering vaguely when Gan dragged him onto the rag-woven cot. He lay swaddled in blankets, and he dared not move too much lest Gan notice and make him swallow another bitter potion. But he _itched_.

Link shifted carefully, brushing his hand over the crackling, lingering sting that draped his entire right side, and probed experimentally at the unsettling tingly squish in his stomach. Sticky, weirdly sharp zapping shocks bit at his fingers. Nausea and thirst fought for primacy as he stared out at the dreary afternoon. Distant thunder muttered to itself, and dim blue-white-gold lightning flickered in the depths of the heavy clouds.

Link hadn't seen the sun or stars since the battle. Every time he surfaced from his medicated haze, it was to storms exactly like this. He knew days passed mostly because Gan told him, and because of the cucco. The goats remained in their pen, but the featherbutts wandered anytime it wasn't raining, and tried to roost in or on or near the canvas shelter when it did. _They_ knew the rhythm of day and night whether they could see it or not.

One of the speckled hens lost a shoving match, fluttering down from the crossbrace and hopping up on the cot beside him. The blue hen on the rail pecked at her, and she squealed in offense, flapping madly through the short jump to the other side of his hip.

Behind him, Gan grunted, and the speckled cucco rwarked back. Link closed his eyes and lay as still as he could manage. The cot did slope back in the middle, so Gan was probably still sitting lotus style against the pillar, like the last time he woke. The hen waddled about, clicking and squeaking questions at her lazy keepers. Gan yawned a curse, joints crackling and the cot creaking as he stretched. The speckled cucco battered the damp air to launch herself upward again - probably to perch on Gan's shoulder. She liked people more than the others, and seemed especially fond of preening Gan's hair when it was wet.

"Damn bird," groaned Gan, even as he clicked back at her and scurfled her neck feathers. "Almost had the riddle solved and you have to wake me up?"

The cucco rwrrred at him.

"Look, there's plenty of room on the roost bars for all of you if you'd just go _inside_ the coop instead of trying to sleep on top of it. Idiot," grumbled Gan.

The cucco clucked and chirrred in contentment.

"At least sit _still_. Or tell me something useful for once," said Gan. "How about starting with where to find more powdered bluebeetle shells? Or a secret stash of dried truffles and pickled heartradish? No? Just going to eat my hair and fluff your feathers at me? Shameless fluffbutt. Try not to lay your eggs off a ledge tomorrow ok? Teaches the girls bad habits."

"You're so gentle with them," murmured Link, embarrassed at the wobbly rasp in his voice. "One day you launch a murderous rampage, and the next you're cuddling a spoiled hen."

"Hn," said Gan, scritching the purring cucco on his shoulder. "Good morning to you too, ingrate. Hungry?"

Link shrugged, opening his eyes. Gan looked awful, his face gaunt and shadowed, his shirt stained and torn. "In the west treasure room, in the little wood box I have vials of green-"

"I have no interest whatsoever in feeding that beast," cut in Gan, folding his arms across his chest. "If on the other hand you will confess the location of another stash of _blue_ or even _red_ potion, I might _consider_ opening a bottle of sugared wildberries for you."

"Just because you drained your magic with that blast doesn't mean you need to bear a four-day headache," countered Link.

Gan scoffed, provoking a worried chirr from the spotted cucco. "You think _this_ is drained? You're more mageblind than I thought."

Link swallowed hard, wondering if he could drink water without it stinging him yet. "You look terrible."

"Pot, kettle." Gan said.

"I've too many holes for a pot," said Link with a wry grin.

Gan snarled at him. "How can you make _jokes_ when I almost killed you out there?"

"Eh," Link said with a shrug. "Wasn't the first time y- that is, I've had worse. It's nothing,"

"Don't be stupid. I don't know how you can even be _talking_ when you lost your hand and half a leg to that swamp monster. For the love of Light, you have a gaping _hole_ in your gut big enough I could put my fist in if your blood wasn't full of skyfire, but this is categorically _not_ nothing _,_ " shouted Gan, startling the speckled cucco, who shrieked and fled back to her nestmates. "I've ripped all the treasure rooms apart already looking for supplies. _Is there more blue potion?_ "

Link tried to untangle himself from the blanket, then realized it probably wasn't nice to make Gan have to look at his wounds. So he gave up, and lay back down. "How many bottles have you used?"

"Four," said Gan. "Twice that of red."

"Then no, not here," said Link, shaking his head. "I never thought we'd need-"

"Well you thought _wrong_ ," snapped Gan. "Where's the flute?"

"Away," said Link.

"This isn't a game. Tell me where you hid the goddamn flute," growled Gan. "Or else."

Link made a rude noise, though he too began to wonder why he was still alive in this time. The only fairy on the ship lived under the floor of the ancient captain's cabin, and she didn't like helping humans much. Something about a broken promise, long ago. Usually a mortal wound without a helpful fairy around would send him back to the temple complex in Castletown, to the day Zelda locked him out of the tomorrow after the tower. Why not this time? Was the orb-field stopping the magic that made him go back? But what was keeping him alive?

"Link. You _have_ to tell me," said Gan, his golden eyes almost glowing in the shadows of the makeshift rain shelter. "You promised me the truth in this time."

"Why do you even care? You can't dance the river on your own," said Link.

"No, but you can teach me the song that sends you back upriver, and you'll listen to me about the cannon next time," said Gan.

"I won't go back for something this small," said Link.

Gan gestured helplessly, his voice cracking in the way that always made him furious. " _Small_? The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Ok, fine. It _was_ a really big blast," conceded Link. "I've never seen you do anything quite like that before."

"And how many _befores_ have you got inside that stupid blonde head of yours?" Gan demanded. "Did you wait until you were shaking hands with death every time? Or is this a new torment-"

"I don't want to talk about it," said Link, rolling over so he didn't have to deal with the pain and fury in his golden eyes.

"Too fucking bad," snapped Gan. "I already know you've seen the goddamn moon fall on the world. You ramble when you're delirious. You call me by a name I've never told anyone. You demand explanations I can't give you, and you refuse to believe there's any difference between _me_ and _him_. So. You can just get over yourself and tell me where you hid the stupid flute. It's only _two hundred million_ possible combinations. I've held him off for eight years - what's seven more?"

"You'd be stranded here," said Link to the rain. "I can't take you back with me."

"I won't be any _less_ alone after you die, idiot. So don't pretend you're being a jackass for my benefit," said Gan.

Link winced. "It's in the same place as the Tears. Touch the bottom of our fish pond, and you'll see a hole at the bottom of the wall. Watch out for the jagged spot where it turns. _Don't_ touch the gold puzzle box."

Gan didn't move or even say anything for a moment. The storm cracked open again with a shuddering boom, hurling tiny seed-hail along with the rain. The cucco screamed and shoved one another as they all tried to be in the middle of the flock.

"Don't fall asleep while I'm gone," he said at last. "Codebreaking is _annoying_."

"Give me your hand then. There's a pattern of three I will teach you," said Link. "If that doesn't fix enough, the third, first, and one higher will-"

"I'll open the river _first_ , thanks," said Gan, crawling off the cot.

"I _won't_ teach you that one," said Link. "The second one invokes a different, terrible power. Try not to use it."


	77. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 31

Ganondorf opened a fresh bottle of King's Tears, pouring the sharp spirits over a fistful of mint and crushed freezestone in a brass cup. He waited until the metal pinged thrice, and strained the Tears into the waiting glass of lemon juice and precious desert spices. He watched the vortex form around the spoon as he stirred in a fat measure of cane juice he'd secretly laced with powdered bluebeetle. He wasn't sure the ancient shells would still hold any virtue, but at least it wouldn't do any harm. He'd already tested the concoction on himself to make sure.

Link glared at the glass when he set it on the table in easy reach. "That's quite a bribe, desert prince."

"Just eat your damn soup," said Gan, straddling the opposite bench carefully. He wasn't sure how much longer the repairs would hold up to his weight. If not for Link's condition, he would have rather banished chairs completely and stitched them both big fat floor cushions.

"Heartradish isn't going to grow me a new hand, no matter how many ways you cook it. Just let it go," said Link.

"I'll let it go when you teach me the song," said Gan, crunching through a slice of pickled melon. It was a terrible batch, the vinegar musty and the spices too old, but at least the oak leaf trick from the ancient books worked to give the thing proper tooth.

"It's not open for discussion. Bring back the ocarina from wherever you've hidden it. The magic will work better for me," said Link, picking up his spoon.

"You can't even play it properly anymore, so how about no," said Gan, eating another slice of awful pickles. "The zapshroom omelettes aren't making a difference, are they?"

Link grimaced. "About as much as the topaz did, except it itches inside."

Gan blew a tight breath through his nose and wrestled with his rage. It wasn't _fair_ , and he didn't understand. The skyfire contamination shouldn't be _possible_. Not on a human. His mothers always called the lightmagic capricious and bloodthirsty, inferior as a weapon because like the wind it went where it pleased, spent itself, and was gone. It didn't persist like ice, nor could it be fed like fire.

Or at least - it shouldn't. Not without some active spell calling it.

"How much do you know about magic, Link?"

"Enough. I don't want to talk about it," he said, leaning over his bowl to slurp at the cold heartradish stew.

"Too bad," said Gan, sipping at his own spiced lemonade and wondering if tipping a little Tears in would help _him_ too. Except - how could they? The whole point of a King was to strengthen the _People_. To transmute _their_ grief and pain into power. To nurture beauty and bring prosperity. To wield the shuttle and the blade, giving and taking life as the Pattern demands. To stand between and maintain balance between the Spirits and the ancestors and the living.

"Well? Out with it already," grumped Link, setting aside the spoon so he could manage his glass. The broken bones in his left hand had more or less healed in the right arrangement, but he still struggled with tremors.

Gan watched him for a moment, feeling a faint echo of the prickly crawling electric sting corrupting Link's body. "There's no such thing as an accident."

"Gan. Don't be like this," groaned Link. "Stop trying to pretend it was your fault, ok?"

"I'm dead serious," said Gan, picking at a splinter in the table. "Magic has rules. It doesn't have a mind of its own any more than - oh, a rock. It can't act without someone or something pushing it."

"Things happen by themselves _all the time._ Rocks fall off mountains, wildfires rip across fields, rivers flood. People blame the gods because people are awful, but that doesn't make it true," said Link.

Gan sighed, letting his eyes wander around the room. He would rather have gotten up to pace but that would only upset Link more. "That's the thing. Both are incomplete truths. Chance is an illusion that people believe in because it gives them hope, and because it's easier to understand and talk about than the true vastness of the Great Pattern. Everything happens for a reason, even if you can't see it. A rock falls on someone's house today because a beetle moved a grain of sand a thousand years ago."

"The beetle isn't responsible for what happened to the house," said Link, setting his glass down with a determined thunk.

"My _point_ is the rock didn't fall because it was the rock's idea, and the _rock_ isn't at fault for where it fell and what it did," said Gan. "Magic follows the same rules."

"You think about rules a lot," said Link softly.

"Someone has to," said Gan, avoiding his gaze. "I can't change who I am. I've tried. That's why I pushed for the cannon. What happened last autumn-"

"I _said_ I _don't_ want to talk about it," snapped Link, plopping his spoon back in his half-empty bowl.

" _You_ don't have to. I do," said Gan, looking at him sidelong. "I need you to _listen_ for once in your damn fool life. However many times you've gone upriver, whatever it is you're looking for, you might as well give up if you won't open your ears. On that day, I _called_ the skyfire down. I _wanted_ to shatter and destroy. I _needed_ my enemies to burn."

"You panicked. It happens. It was an accident. Even heroes and kings stumble sometimes," said Link. He reached across the table, and Gan could see the flicker of tiny lightnings trapped under his scarred flesh. "I don't blame you for lashing out on instinct."

"You should," returned Gan. "I know you'd rather believe I lost control-"

"Stop," said Link.

Gan did not stop. "I was in _perfect_ command of myself the entire time. _I am not a nice person._ Do you understand? I saw you take a deadly hit. I saw we were going to lose. I made a _choice_. And if money meant anything out here, I would wager everything the 'accidents' you saw around me in the befores weren't any different."

"Shut _up_ ," shouted Link. "How _dare_ you pass judgment on my - goddamnit! Don't tell me what I saw. We were _so close_. It was _my_ mistake. _Mine_. Not yours."

"Don't misunderstand me - I'm not insulting your strength or skill on the field," said Gan, holding fast to discipline, letting Link's fury slide past him. "I didn't mean to hurt you. But I _absolutely_ wanted to hurt everything else. I chose to-"

"I'm _not_ giving up on you," roared Link, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the dishes and spill his soup. His fierce blue eyes reflected only fury. "So you can just stop, you hear me? _Stop_."

Gan waited, watching a stray lightning crawl out of the sling Link wore now, for resting his shattered right arm in. It writhed up his thin chest and into the placket of his no-color shirt. When he counted four breaths between Link's wordless growls, he released the tiny thread of magic warding the lemonade against mischance. "I am the last soul ever spun who would doubt your resolve."

Link grunted like a surly wolfos interrupted from a nap.

"Tell me about one of the accidents," said Gan softly, holding his gaze. "In detail. Everything you remember."

"I can't," said Link, shaking his head and thumping back down on his little bench.

"I know there must have been lots. Just pick one. Tell me about a time you feel absolutely certain my magic wasn't under either my control or _his_ ," said Gan softly.

Link hesitated, fidgeting, and his eyes unfocused as his thoughts turned inward. "I don't remember all of it. We were running - a game we played a thousand times. A race to see who could sprint from the gate to the Beedle wagon fastest. It was solstice, or - no, a little before. We all knew Lamis would win, and you and Roan would come in a close second, but Taedra was cheering for me. She is everything sweet and good, even when she pranks her sibs."

Gan nodded, desperately curious about these strangers with foreign names. The way Link spoke, the strangers seemed to be children. Cherished friends. Almost - family. Link _never_ spoke of people fondly like that. He hated the outside world.

"They told me the mules were in a frenzy, walleyed and foaming," said Link. "They bolted in the traces almost an hour down the road when the Beedle stepped down to take a piss. I never saw - the magic hit out of nowhere. They said there was a sudden glow like lightning inside a cloud, and I just dropped. The wagon wheels froze too, snapping an axle, and the mules - said they locked knees and sat down. We were lucky they didn't break a leg or worse."

"Did I want you to win?" Gan held his voice to a low rumble.

Link nodded, his focus still on that far-away disaster. "All I remember is running, and waking up to Beedle and - the farmer carrying me out of the road. You didn't know what happened any more than the rest of us."

"But I willed you to win. Winning meant you reaching the wagon first. I didn't specify _how_ ," said Gan softly. "Can't you see? This proves my point."

Link's focus snapped back to the now, his body tensing to lash out. "It proves _nothing_. You were a _child_ -"

"There is no possible world in which I didn't know from the time I could walk that I could manifest my Will into the world," said Gan. "I know myself, what I've done in this time. Pieces of what I've done in others, and could do again. None of that could have been an accident. Faced with the consequence of my actions - again, without discipline or compassion - I willed everything to _stop_. How many times have you danced with death because of me?"

Link roared in denial, lunging out of his seat and hurling the glass of lemonade and Tears at him. He missed by the narrowest possible margin, and the precious vessel shattered on the metal floor of the eating room. The brew it once held vanished into the shadows, where Gan could at least attempt to recover it later. He told himself it was worth the risk, that the possible healing properties of the concoction outweighed the probable consequences of exercising his wicked powers. Again.

Gan waited for Link to exhaust himself with the yelling, maintaining eye contact, bracing himself against the temptation to call any _more_ magic as if against a strong wind. Link hobbled around the table too quickly, and stumbled. Gan stood to catch his frail little body before he could fall. The inescapable differences between them had only grown over the years, and that somehow hurt more than all the buzzing shocks crawling through his skin.

Nine years made him enormous, yet Link remained in the body of a child. His _hair_ didn't even grow.

"You'll make yourself sick this way," said Gan, when the curses gave way to hiccups. "Come on. Let's go feed the cucco."

"But," stammered Link.

"The fresh air will be good for you," said Gan, swinging the ageless, broken boy up onto his shoulder.


	78. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 32

Sunset on the eve of the longest day of the year buzzed with life. A clean breeze swept through the marsh from the distant south sea, and hidden songbirds sang from golden nests at the edge of time.

Two mismatched boys leaned against the verdigris brass railing of the ancient steel shipwreck, listening to the cicada romance one another across the wilderness. One was tall and dark, his fiery red hair pulled back in a simple three-strand plait hanging nearly to his knees. The small, pale boy with short wheat-gold hair wore a hinged brace of polished cedar on his mangled right leg, and had to stand on a crate to prop his elbows on the railing. They both wore loose homespun trousers with bright borders of stripes and dots woven at the edges. The pale boy wore blue with white, and the dark one wore cream with borders of yellow and blue and red.

"This hour always makes my head feel strange," said the pale boy.

The tall one grunted, nodding. "Not surprised. At twilight, the distance between the realm of the living and the dead draws close. You have a foot in each I think."

"I guess," said the other. "Is that why you can make roads in the dark at dawn and dusk?"

"Probably. I _can_ do it anywhere there's deep shadow, but it takes a _lot_ more work. Like the difference between sliding down a hill on an old shield, or running up that hill with a basket of stones in each hand," said the taller boy, shifting his hip against the railing and folding his arms across his broad, bony chest. "I've been able to feel the power moving for as long as I can remember. I don't know how to tell you what it's like, embracing the shadows. When we first came here, I thought the timeshift orb would block it out, the way my mothers' workroom and the temples and the fortress did. But I was ready to pay that price, to earn a place in the Light."

"Oh Gan," said the pale boy, pushing himself upright and raising his wide blue eyes to search the face of his companion. "I won't let the demons win."

"Let me know how that goes with one hand," said Gan, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon. "You can't hunt anymore. You can't fight. You can't even _sleep_ for two hours without waking up in a screaming nightmare."

"I'll figure out how to hunt if you give me back the flute," said the boy with a shrug. "Anyways they're not really nightmares. Not like it was. It starts, and then there's a loud voice, and I wake up."

"What does it say?" Gan asked, looking down at the boy. "I know a few things about dreams, Link. What do you see? Tell me the truth."

"What is there to tell? There is fog, and a voice I can't quite hear," said Link, tracing an idle pattern against the ship's rail. "There's something very important, but I lost it, and something dangerous, but I don't know where that is either. I realize I'm falling, and then there's a shout, and I wake up."

"But you used to have different dreams. When did it change?" Gan spoke in a soft, rumbling voice, as to a nervous animal.

Link grasped the railing so hard his knuckles shone. "You took the horse and went into the Lost Woods. I went after you, but I - the forest is closed to me. I couldn't find you in time to - stop what happened."

Gan unfolded his arms and laid his hand on Link's shoulder. "Ah. The wildfire."

Link shook his head vehemently no. "The fire was an accident. A real one. You were running from a feral hive and you fell and died for a while. A fairy helped until I could find you that time. But there wasn't a fairy at the end. You left. You left everything. There was so much blood. You were only fifteen."

"I'm fifteen tomorrow," said Gan.

"I know," said Link. "Also I don't have _anything_ for you and there's not enough food left in the cold room for a feast and-"

"I don't care about the food," said Gan, pulling Link close and ruffling his fair hair in the fading twilight. "You do have something I want very much, even though you keep trying to pretend you don't."

"Not teaching you the song," came the muffled reply.

"What I mean is, you have the Light inside you. It's not just the orb or the flute. You run around being compassionate and generous and brave without even thinking about it," said Gan with a little shake of his head. "I need to tell you some things that will be hard, but first I want to show you something."

Link turned a suspicious glare at him. "Another machine?"

"Not this time. Though - I've been thinking about a better way to make rugs. Remind me to show you the test model when we get to the workroom," said Gan, releasing the smaller boy and tousling his hair.

Night followed them aft, and the hidden birds sang a little softer. Gan wordlessly offered Link his hand at every stair. Every time, Link refused. He snarled whenever his right leg tried to slip or fold under him, and he was drenched with sweat by the time they made it to the workroom at the stern.

Support beams and narrow bits of random partition wall still remained from the smaller cabins which once lay athwart of the mizzenmast. Dozens of ancient crystals in golden cages filled the whole space with soft amber light. Masterfully joined wooden panels and rolling doors patched the damaged steel hull on the starboard side.

Gan pulled a heavy bench close to an open space on the worktable built against the entire port side, grumbling his disapproval when Link insisted on climbing onto the bench without help. He made complicated adjustments to brass wire and glass contraptions around the nearest crystal lamps, amplifying their brilliance. Link watched him work, expression closed. He showed no surprise whatever when Gan flipped back a rug draping a weathered crate, drawing out from it a smaller chest. He frowned at the pile of books Gan emptied onto the table, though he leaned in to get a better view.

"These belonged to the last captain of this ship. I've been translating them, though I don't know if I'll ever get all of the text. Too many idioms, or maybe abbreviations, or the language shifted a _lot_ ," said Gan, flipping through pages in one of the dusty hardbound tomes. He laid it open on the table, gesturing to a detailed painting of a chrysalis hanging from a lightcrystal cage. Then he opened a handmade reedpaper journal to a marked page of flowing Gerudo script. "The last captain of this ship was an explorer. Loved wild places and everything in them. These 'poor drawings' served as notes for paintings he gave to his children and grandchildren - and to the far distant ancestors of your royal family. A few might even have survived in their treasury."

"That doesn't make sense. Hyrule doesn't touch any sea at all - I mean, the only boats there are for lakes and stuff. Not like this," said Link in confusion. "Does it say Hyrule used to be bigger?"

"I don't think there was a Hyrule yet when this ship still floated," said Gan. "This ship isn't just _old_. The last time anyone saw this butterfly was thousands of years ago, when your country was young. But these were already rare before the explorer and his friend restored this ship in the first place. The explorer kept trying to find a way to breed them. Believed something terrible would happen if they died out."

"I don't know how you can tell any of that from a drawing of a beanpod - but I've never seen any butterflies here," said Link, gingerly turning pages with his left hand to look at the pictures. "Not even when I went to the long ago befores."

"It's not a bean- look, that's not the important thing, ok? The butterfly just helped me figure out the _when_ better. And some of the words. The _point_ is I've figured out when _we_ are, in here. Give or take a few centuries," said Gan, pinching the bridge of his long nose.

"Oh," said Link. "Does it matter?"

"Of _course_ it matters. The last person on this ship before you found it whenever ago was the great-great-granddaughter of the explorer. Her name was Rin, and she left a note on the last page of the last book - here," said Gan, pulling another book from the stack and showing off the gap between the main text and the brief note at the end. "She was some kind of knight called a Skyrider, and she spent half her life trying to convince her village she wasn't descended from crazy people. She found this place with the orb still active, but it was the same time on both sides of the spell. She turned it off, and she was mad because she thought it meant he _was_ crazy after all. She started packing things to take back home, but the orb was too heavy. So she put it back - and somehow turned it on by accident-"

"And it was still night inside," said Link softly, tracing his fingers along the edge of the faded page.

"Exactly," said Gan in triumph. "She stayed to read the journals here, and in the end agreed with the explorer that it was better if the orb was forgotten also, so people couldn't fight over them or use them as weapons. But she couldn't figure out how to destroy it either, so she turned the magic off and hid the orb."

"Wait. _Also_? _Them_? What other thing-" began Link.

"Dunno. It's never named. Something to do with an ancient Zelda and a holy place of some kind," said Gan with a negligent shrug, turning pages in yet another book. He didn't notice the color drain from Link's pale face. He didn't even look up as he hooked a stool close to perch on while he hunted for something in the old journal. "The point is - there are, or at least have been, others with your kind of magic. You're not alone on that river, Link."

"Ok," said Link after a moment. "That - wasn't so hard, I guess, learning this place is older than Hyrule."

"Good, because the next thing is harder," said Gan, still frowning as he skimmed pages. "You'll need to know this when you go back. I don't know if you can take these translations with you, but if you can? Do. It will save literally _years_ of work."

"I'm not _going_ back," said Link, thumping his fist on the table.

Gan looked up with a wry grin. "It will be ok, you know. We know about the swamp monster this time. And you don't have to go all the way back - just far enough to fix it. The books talk about that, charting a course through the river. I'm still finding all the scattered references to it so I can transcribe the notes for you in modern Hylian."

"You don't understand," said Link.

"I understand more than you like to believe," said Gan, setting his book on top of the other open ones. A single image spilled across both pages, wrought in thin, anxious black slashes and amorphous blobs of faded purple. Cramped notes crowded around the drawing, and when Gan turned the page slowly, the next several pages revealed the same kind of dark, gestural, nearly illegible studies. "You've seen magic like this, haven't you?"

Link's mouth formed the word yes, but he made no sound at all.

"This is the same plague I brought upon my people. The red cough. The miasma. The smothering fog that consumes life and magic and everything," said Gan, his golden eyes fierce and bright. "The ancient explorer defeated the demon who created it, but the spell can't outlive its creator. Which means that same demon is _still alive_ , in _our_ time."

"But you didn't mean to," whispered Link. "It was an accident. A mistake."

"Oh no. I _absolutely_ meant to raid the tomb of King Vaijun the Enduring to study his bones and summon his spirit," said Gan, sitting back and tapping his nails against the table. "The _mistake_ was thinking I was so clever the Rova didn't know what I was doing. When the red cough started, I forgot about that project, until the warrior spirit showed me the cursed bones at the bottom of the well. Only a sorcerer stronger than me could have seen and broken through the ward I'd hidden them under."

"Or a demon," mumbled Link.

"Precisely," said Gan, handing him a different reedpaper journal, bound with yellow thread. "When you go back, if you can only take one book? Take _this_ translation and give it to me as soon as we're safe here. I made a note where the chest of books is hidden, in case you have to go back to before I find them."

Link took the journal as if it might turn about and bite him. "Why?"

"Because the other thing this curse does is block _mine_. If I can just isolate that part of the pattern," said Gan, gesturing broadly as he trailed off.

Link hung his head, staring a hole in the yellow-bound journal.

The mismatched boys sat in silence for a long while, each wrapped in their own inscrutable thoughts. Link slouched further, tipping faintly to one side. He jerked awake - blinking fast and shaking his head, but Gan wouldn't believe his dissembling. He lifted the smaller boy in his arms, carrying him to the rough little bedroom amidship where yards and yards of seaworn cloth veiled the stark metal walls, and piles of salt-faded rugs cushioned the unforgiving floor.

An hour passed while Gan argued Link _into_ the bed, and yet another slid past them as Gan held his hand and told him a long and rambling story about a cucco and a talking pumpkin. At last, Link drifted to sleep, and still Gan sat beside him for the better half of a third hour.

In silence, Gan untangled himself from the sleeping boy, and in silence he returned to the upper deck. He gazed at the stars for a long while, shook his head at the moon, and stalked over to the neglected hulk of the fat wooden cannon. He reached into the charred bore, drawing from it a small bluestone ocarina that seemed to pull the moonlight deep into itself.

The fourth hour found him leaning in the doorway of the bedroom, rolling his fingers over the little flute, playing a soft pattern of three. Link began to twitch in his sleep. Gan paused at the bottom of the melody, and reversed his path.

Three. One. One higher.

Again.

A searing blue-white brilliance exploded from the faceted instrument, streaming across the room to wrap the pale boy in its enchantment.

Gan stopped playing.

Link vanished.

Gan crossed the small room, his steps unsteady. He laid the flute on a table without looking at it. He knelt beside the bed, trailing his fingers across the faint hollow in the felted mattress, and wept.


	79. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 33

Ganondorf leaned against his best oiled sourwood loom, fumbling for the sleying hook. He wedged it into the wax seal on a new faceted glass bottle, prying at the tightly spun threads beneath. He bent the thin steel as he cursed and savaged the thing open, but that didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

He dropped the hook and the wax and the damp woolen wadding, tilting the bottle against his cracked lips. The burning liquor tasted like the voice of the black wind, and the fumes made his eyes water. He stared at the warm golden shimmer of his finest reed, pressing his fingers against the tidy flat wires.

"Sorry," he said to the loom. "I sent your purpose away. But I _had_ to. You'll live again though. Somewhen."

The loom reflected the lazy midsummer afternoon, and said nothing.

"What good will it do anyone to finish you, huh? Who wears yellow and pale indigo together? _I_ certainly won't," said Ganondorf to the nascent cloth. "Maybe if you'd had the courage to _actually_ be green, instead of trying to be clever, I'd have tied you right up. But we'll never know now, will we?"

Neither golden shuttle nor precious blue warp nor the hand's breadth of chimera cloth gave him answer.

Ganondorf kicked the weaving bench. The elegant bit of clever joinery groaned and fell over, spilling tools and thread and notes everywhere.

"Yeah? Well I always hated you too," he spat, lifting the bottle for another pull.

The liquor made it hard to think. That was good. Unfortunately walking tended to get complicated well before the booze could drown the voices in his head.

Ganondorf leaned over the reed and heddles, whispering. "I didn't mean you. Carry on. _You_ do a _fine_ job when you have purpose. Unlike that great lumping jackass."

The loom said nothing.

Ganondorf leaned against the heavy sourwood frame, watching the light begin to fade. He tried to hate the pull of the shadows. He reminded himself once again the great danger they embodied.

Once again, reason failed to conquer desire.

Ganondorf sagged against the door of the ancient captain's cabin, fighting back nausea. What would it serve to burn the looms? So what if he couldn't bring himself to work them. Maybe some future explorer would delight in finding them. Maybe they would wonder after the fate of the makers.

Better if they didn't.

Ganondorf slammed the door behind him and stumbled to the railing to throw up. He stared at the sliver of blue-green water between the ancient ship and the modern marsh, spitting bile. He just - couldn't bear to burn it all.

He _wanted_ to. He wanted to sift the ashes of all the pretty lies through his fingers. He wanted to pour his fury into the world and he wanted to punish _someone_ for making him capable of misery. He was the king of demons. Demons don't _have_ feelings.

So why did _he_ have to?

It wasn't _fair_.

Ganondorf plunged a hand into the nearest waterbutt to wash his face and sour mouth. It stained his tongue with heat and salt and a metallic tang, reminding him unpleasantly of blood. He just barely managed to return to the railing in time.

The speckled cucco rrwarked at him and rioted her way up to the rail so she could climb onto his shoulder. She chirred and nibbled at his ear when he didn't pet her immediately.

"You're a sorry excuse of a bird, you know? Your entire purpose in life is nothing but eating bugs and shitting on things and becoming food for something stronger than you," he told her, prodding her soft chest.

The hen clicked and whistled at him, nibbling at his fingers.

"That's right, I _did_ steal your eggs this morning. And I'll steal them again tomorrow too," he said, cupping his hand over her head. "If there is a tomorrow. There might not be, you know. You can't depend on it."

She whistled softly, nudging her beak into his hand and getting comfortable on his shoulder.

"You can't depend on _anything_ ," he murmured to her. It would be so _easy_ to just - close his fist. Crush her. Snap her neck. Toss her through the timeveil to explode in a poof of feather and bone. Less than a minute to destroy her entire world. No effort at all.

Gan pushed himself more or less upright, stroking her glossy feathers. She clicked and chirred, apparently content to roost on his bare shoulder even though he couldn't possibly be walking a straight line. He reclaimed the bottle of Tears from the steps beside the cabin door.

"You should go back to your flock," he told the speckled hen, taking another drink. "It's late, and the darkness is coming. You don't want Blue to get the good perch tonight and have to sleep on the ground again do you? It's bad for your feathers to keep doing that."

She ignored him, reaching over to preen a stray curl and fussing when her beak caught in the snarls. He untangled her and meandered towards the coop. The other cucco scolded him for interrupting their dinner arguments. The speckled hen screamed bloody murder when he wrangled her off his shoulder, and they all scattered.

"That's right, run away from the king of evil. Cowards," he snarled, lifting the bottle again. The sharp flavor wasn't so bad once the first sting rolled off the tongue. The searing rush of it actually began to seem pleasant after a bit. Like the pain of cracking knuckles to release pressure inside the joint.

Made descending to the sandbar uncomfortably interesting though.

Somehow, he managed, sinking his bare feet into warm sand and thinking of home. The texture, the scent, the vague impression of damp were all wrong. But. His head spun a little less, and the rising tide of twilight promised to fill the hollow places inside him.

"We shadows lie though," he told the sunset, raising the bottle in salute. "Wicked all the way down."

The sunset said nothing, giving way before the greed of Night. Not that she was even a quarter so vicious in this far, wild country. Even in the winter, when she brought snow and ice, the people of Clocktown hadn't feared her hunger.

Ganondorf sat on the sandbar, letting the tides roll through him, wondering for the thousandth time if he would ever know what terrible power he'd invoked, or if the world was already crumbling from the center out, and he would be long dead by the time the last pebble fell.

The fairy might know. Not that she ever appeared to him directly. His presence likely weakened and frightened her. Still - she seemed connected to the Warrior in some way. Messages he'd left at her shrine generally seemed to reach the warrior spirit before, anyway. Not that Gan had seen any sign of him since everything happened. Nor had the fairy whisked away his other gifts. And he hadn't seen any new salvage drift within sight of the ship in half a year, either.

If he took a better offering to the shrine, a _really_ valuable one, maybe she would overlook his evil one last time and summon the warrior spirit.

Gan lifted the bottle for another drink as the angry red sun vanished behind the trees, wondering vaguely if he could reach the rest of the Tears in this state. The lightcrystals would already be glowing, so the shadowroads wouldn't help. Not that he could breach the timeveil that way in any case.

A reflection on the shrine island caught his attention. Small, irregular, colorless. Maybe a magpie with a bit of tin scrap.

The marsh echoed with a terrible cry like the black wind and the rushing floods and the rending earth all at once.

Gan scrambled to his feet to get a better line of sight, but still saw nothing more than the odd glimmer in the midsummer twilight. He stumbled to the half-finished reed boat he'd been building last summer and wedged the bottle of Tears in the wet sand so he could work on the knots with both hands. He roared at it in frustration. The prow made an unhealthy crunch when he grasped it.

Gan reclaimed the half-empty bottle of Tears and fell forward into the shadowroads. His head spun, and he couldn't see any sign of the reflection here. But. A faint silvery haze crowned a scraggly hill more or less in the direction of the shrine. A hundred formless, toothy gloop-beasts roamed the darkness, but that didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

Dazzling arcs of many-colored light sliced through the shadow world, carving great jagged holes in every road. Gan tried to edge around one, but the ground sagged and shriveled under his feet, tumbling him into the mud of the mundane world.

Somehow the bottle survived, and with most of its contents, too.

Another terrible cry ripped through the twilight, shivering the soggy earth.

"Spirit! I bring you a sacrifice," yelled Ganondorf. "Show your shiny ass where I can see it, you tardy bastard."

" **You have left the light** ," bellowed the Warrior Spirit from the crest of the shrine hill.

"The light rejected me first," snapped Gan, grasping at roots and straggling branches to keep his balance on the punishing climb.

" **Do not lose faith** ," boomed the spirit. " **So long as you bear even the smallest glimmer of light in your heart, I am with you.** "

"Yeah? Well then," snarled Gan, trying not to think about how much of the hill remained to climb. "Where the fuck were you nine months ago when I needed you?"

" **There has been a great battle underway** ," said the spirit. Somehow, despite the immense power in his voice, he seemed tired.

"Right. I'm only the doom of the world, the next destined host of the great destroyer," grumbled Gan. "Just a minor inconvenience for the sainted hero."

The warrior spirit stood with his gloved hands folded over the pommel of his great spiral sword. Mud stained his shining livery to mid-thigh, and his broad shoulders rolled forward as though he bore an immense weight. He seemed hardly any taller than a mortal man this time. " **Where is your friend?** "

Ganondorf stared into those blazing white eyes, and forgot the booze was supposed to be an offering. "I killed him. Whaddaya gonna do about it? Huh?"

The spirit tilted his head slightly, staring back without any appreciable expression.

"Don't stand there like a rotting post - _fight me_ ," demanded Gan, wiping fire from his lips and thumping his bare chest with his free hand. "That's why you finally came isn't it? To stop the murderous demon king? Well, _do it_ already."

" **Don't force my hand** ," said the spirit.

"Do it," said Gan, rooting himself as firmly as possible given the drink and the slope and the darkness moving through his blood. "What are you? _Scared_?"

" **You won't win** ," said the spirit with a faint shake of his head.

"I don't care! I'll fight you anyway," said Gan, calling the skyfire and darkness into his hands, letting it crawl over his skin, filling him, strengthening him, fizzing through his bones with exquisite possibility.

" **Nothing defies this blade and lives,** " said the spirit, setting a fist upon the hilt.

"What do you know about anything, spirit? You think I don't know how to banish your kind? Just try me," growled Gan, winding a dense ball of dark skyfire in his fist.

" **Don't** ," said the spirit.

" _Fuck you-!_ " Ganondorf hurled volley after volley of purple and gold lightning at the spirit, but his spiralling rainbow sword consumed the power completely, though the tip never left the ground.

" **He isn't dead,** " said the spirit.

The world stopped. Gan dropped to one knee, struggling to breathe.

" **The key was never meant to be a weapon,** " said the warrior in what passed for a quiet voice for him.

"Anything can be a weapon," said Gan, letting the magic begin to unravel. "Even love."

The warrior spirit frowned. " **What do you know of love, demon king?** "

"Enough," said Gan, dropping the threads of power. "Do what you came for."

" **You invoked a terrible mercy for a broken boy** ," said the spirit. " **Why?** "

"He - wouldn't teach me the song to fix it," said Gan, lifting his chin. "There is no hope left in this time after what I have done."

" **Do not be certain that you have triumphed so soon, demon king. Your words say one thing, and your heart another,** " said the spirit. " **What was broken may be mended -** "

"I will pay the price," said Ganondorf, offering the remainder of the Tears.

" **Return what you have stolen and with it I will restore the balance,** " said the spirit.

"No," said Ganondorf, wedging the bottle in the dirt. "It isn't mine to give. Anyways, my people have stories about what happens when you give spirits too much power."

" **There is a cost to what you seek, child of prophecy,** " warned the spirit.

"Take my magic instead," said Gan.

" **This is not within my power,** " said the spirit with a shake of his head.

"There might be a way," said Gan. "I found fragments of deep and ancient patterns that change the rules of magic. But to study this riddle and craft the spell I will need time - and the bones of a cursed king."

The spirit tilted his head the other way. " **You now ask three boons, child of prophecy. Which do you desire more?** "

Gan sighed. There could be no doubt what he must answer, but that didn't ease the pain of saying it. "I am a mortal danger to him and everyone as long as I have this corrupted, evil magic. So. Bring me bones."

After a moment the spirit took a knee before him. " **Why does the king of evil weep?** "

"You could never understand," said Gan, scrubbing his least muddy arm across his face. "Howsoever evil I have been and will be, I am still human."

" **For now** ," said the spirit.

"What more do you want from me?" Gan gestured helplessly.

" **Peace** ," said the spirit, a thread of sorrow in his terrible voice. " **I** **am the hopes and dreams of the hundred thousand million lives that balance upon this blade. Wherever chaos consumes order, whenever malice devours love, however the balance tips into darkness, I am there. In the name of the Light which must not perish, I am bound to eternal battle against hatred and fear and cruelty so long as blood is spilled in the name of Darkness.** "

"So," said Ganondorf, studying the spirit's shining, painted face for the truth. _He_ wasn't bound by any promise - only his questionable mercy and the law of the Three. "Why didn't you kill me nine years ago and save everyone else the trouble?"

" **Is the existence of evil a reason to embrace it? By the will of the golden gods, there is somehow a spark of light even in the darkest heart,** " said the spirit. " **Do you wish to remain in solitude here, to study and work without distraction?** "

"Not really," confessed Gan. "But I can't go home, and I can't pay the price you name to heal him. It is what it is. All that matters is-"

" **It is already done,** " said the spirit, standing to his full height. " **You have thrice chosen the greater good, at great personal cost. From such Light as this, what was ravaged may be woven whole.** "

Ganondorf stared at the spirit, unable to form actual words.

" **Go, make offerings to the guardian of this shrine,** " said the spirit. " **Hold vigil there, and seek the light within. Embrace what is good and true and bright, wholly and without reservation, and all will be right in the end and the end and the end."**


	80. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 34

Night lifted none of the muggy heat. The magic of the mask didn't hold it back either. Leaping from root to root whenever possible only kept Link out of the muddy waters long enough to truly hate having to slog through them again.

Nothing for it though. So long as Gan refused to return the ocarina, he had exactly two choices: walk the wide world in the boots of a dead god, or in the weakness of the child he once was, ages ago.

Zelda might be fourteen by the time he could make his way to the heart of Hyrule in hopes the timeshifts would have given her another ocarina. Could he leave Gan alone so long though? And how many _years_ might he need to stay, to convince her to let him borrow it?

Link hacked at vegetation with the enchanted sword, cringing at the necessary blasphemy. Of _course_ the most direct route to solid ground lay through a stranglevine thicket.

Gan had abandoned the boat for the shadow roads tonight despite his vehement disavowal of magic - how would he return to the ship? Could he swim well enough now to cross the marsh without either?

Link leaned against a cypress stump in the sweltering dawn, scraping together the dregs of his will. He'd never really thought this body _had_ limits. Then again, he'd never needed to walk halfway across the world in one frantic month before.

What if Gan misunderstood about the vigil, and stayed in the shrine past dawn? More than a day? If he began to starve, would the fairy finally accept the good in his heart and help him? Heal him?

Link charged through the swamp - or rather, waded angrily - trying to remember the location of the nearest safe grotto. Somewhere no one would be poking their noses in for at least a few months. Except he _also_ needed to acquire provisions and sort out how to get them to the ship this time.

Gan was right. He should have known that mixed raiding band last fall would be far more dangerous than the others. He should have insisted Gan remain on the ship, or else compromised about the cannon. He'd allowed himself to grow complacent. Overconfident. Dependent on weapons he couldn't use in Gan's presence.

How would he ever guard the ship and stock their larder without the ocarina?

Link pulled himself up the steep wash, cursing his mountain of mistakes. The masks, the weapons, these gave him deadly strength, but the ocarina was what made him a hero. What possessed him to surrender it? Why did he ever think Gan would give it back? What good could he do for anyone while he was bound to the indifferent course of mortal time?

Link pushed himself onward through the trees.

One step.

Another.

The demon mask from the shrine by the farm - what powers might it have? He'd never tried to use it, only made certain no one else could stumble upon it.

"You get around," called a familiar voice.

Link hesitated. The morning sun glared across the open fields ahead, making distances hard to measure, and blurring the edges of trees and rocks enough to suggest people and buildings where there shouldn't be any. Or - maybe he needed to rest. Maybe it was his own mortal exhaustion bleeding away the power of the mask, confusing his sight.

Imagining voices on the wind surely made a good argument for laying down in the tall grass on the lee of the hill and persuading himself he was only taking a nap in the garden. Blocking out the shrill cicada with the memory of lazy honeybees and harmless darners buzzing through the fragrant blooms. The other children laid down to rest in the afternoon - Idrea didn't need him underfoot in her kitchen while she finished the pies for dinner. Corfo wouldn't mind if he stole just a moment in the shade of the apple trees. And Gan would sing-

"What is a demigod doing _walking_ across Termina?" The voice called out from closer this time. Slightly above him, floating down from the silhouette of a man leaning against a high-wheeled, two-horse gig.

Ensren.

Link froze, struggling to push words past the lump in his throat. " **How did you follow me?** "

Ensren gestured to the sleek post horses. "Dangerous habit for minor gods, underestimating mortals. Even if your blade didn't blaze like dawn, you leave a track a child could read."

" **You don't belong here,** " began Link, dragging his sword along beside him. As long as the tip remained grounded, there wouldn't be accidents. Probably.

"Last I checked, I was still standing on the mortal plane," said Ensren, his bare arms crossed over his broad chest. "What are _you_ here for? This time?"

" **That's not your business,** " growled Link. Why wasn't he afraid?

"On the contrary," returned Ensren, stepping away from the cart. "I think my family has a lot of business with you, _Vohatyr_."

Link knew he should never have used that name again. He just - couldn't think of anything else when Corfo needled his aloof outlander customer for the way to remember him to the gods of a Lightsday.

"You may be able to fool city people with a mortal disguise, but you don't know much about humans if you think farmers wouldn't notice an ageless youth come to our gate for _highly_ specific merchandise year after year, and always paying a king's ransom for it? You don't even bother to change your hair or the cut of your clothes," said Ensren, calm as if he were reciting the price of beans, his hazel eyes unwavering before the bedraggled might of an ancient warrior.

" **Oh no** ," said Link, leaning upon his terrible sword as he sank to his knees on the hill.

Ensren clicked his tongue and shook his head. "You're not a very _smart_ god, are you?"

" **Oh Ensren my brother,** " said Link, pressing his forehead to the spiral ricasso of the sword. It hummed with power, with hunger, with rage. He wound his fists on the hilt. Knowing what must be done didn't make it any easier. " _ **Why**_ **did you have to follow me?** "

"A man has a right to know who he's doing business with," said Ensren, rooting himself not a hand's breadth from the divine sword. "You look like trampled horseshit. If there ever was a world in which you could frighten me, this isn't it."

" **That is foolish** ," said Link, though he couldn't quite make himself rise. How would he move past this day, this moment? Saving the world required _sacrifices_. So many. He'd given so much of his heart over so many times - how could the gods demand this too?

"Come - put that little toy away and have a drink," said Ensren, turning back to the gig. "I brought a crate of applejack since you haven't bothered to stop by in nearly a year and that seems to be where you get the better half of your powers. You certainly buy enough of it."

Link rocked forward on his knees, trying to heave himself back to his feet. It would be easier from behind. Where he didn't have to see the despair and betrayal in his eyes too. " **Who else knows?** "

"We don't gossip about our customers to outsiders," said Ensren, hooking a jug out of the tiny chest strapped behind the seat. "Da has to get creative when the tax weasels come around though, no thanks to your little gifts."

" **I was - trying to help** ," said Link, chest tight with the mortal grief he couldn't express or ease. This body wasn't capable of sorrow or joy. If the furious deity whose skin he borrowed ever knew anything but war, the shell preserved in the mask had forgotten it. " **Helping is good. Heroes help people. Heroes are good. I was a hero once. Long ago tomorrow, in a hard time. I did everything in the name of the Light. But a real hero saves everyone.** "

Ensren offered him the jug of applejack. "Heroes aren't defined by the flag they fight under or the gifts they give or the number of lives owed to their deeds. A hero is someone with the courage to do what is right, especially when it's hard, especially when the world is ugly and unjust."

Link stared at the jug, longing for the oblivion it represented. " **The prophecy. The princess. The priest. The sages. The people. They all said it was right. They told me all the bad things he'd done - and he never even denied any of it. He was evil. He seized the throne. He used dark and terrible magics. He sought to open the sacred realm and claim the power of the gods for himself.** "

"If you actually believed any of that bullshit, you wouldn't be trying to atone for it now," said Ensren.

" **But I** _ **did**_ **believe. I** _ **saw**_ **the destruction, how seven years of his rule warped and corrupted the world,** " said Link, feeling small and lost before his calm confidence, despite the mask.

"Except," said Ensren, taking the divine sword from his nerveless fingers. "That wasn't the whole truth, was it?"

Link shook his head in misery. " **I went back to warn her, so the prophecy couldn't happen again. She - had him captured when I was away. Executed. The gods revived him. The** _ **good**_ **gods. The** _ **old ones**_ **. They wouldn't give their power to an evil man. But they - they still destroyed him. They tried to hide what they'd done, and I can't fix it. It is too late to take back what I said in that time."**

"You're not responsible for the injustice some ancient princess chose to do with your warning," said Ensren, cutting to the heart of the tangle as always. "That doesn't explain why you're _here_ or why a demigod of war has been haunting _my_ family."

" **To make the bad things from many tomorrows never become,** " said Link.

"Good luck with that," said Ensren, setting down the jug to study the divine sword more closely. "People are complicated in ways spirits and demons aren't. The golden gods gave us free will, Vohatyr. You can't _make_ anyone be good all the time, and even if you could, it wouldn't be real. Virtue comes less from the _doing_ than from the _choice_ to do what is kind and just and right."

" _ **This**_ **is why your family** ," said Link, groping for words. " **You embrace a stranger. You argue with a demigod. You look at one of the most powerful weapons in the world with curiosity, not greed.** "

"I wouldn't dare use this blade for all the money and all the fields and all the books in all the world," said Ensren, shaking his head at it, watching the way it refracted the light. "It's beautiful in the same way a lightning storm is beautiful. In theory, and from a distance, and only when you're not on the business end of it, which in this case I think is both."

" **Lightning** ," said Link, scrubbing a hand across his face and rocking back on his heels. " **The fate of the world tilts in time with the war in his heart - he** _ **is**_ **the storm. Dark as thunderclouds and bright as lightning. I persuaded him away to a safe place in this time, for now.** "

"Who is with him? Humans need other people around, or else their minds will shiver to pieces," said Ensren, giving back the sword.

" **I am** ," said Link. " **He isn't safe for other people, and they aren't safe for him. I can't let it happen again.** "

"Unless you're the kind of spirit that can be in many places at once that's bullshit. I've been following you for _two weeks_ ," said Ensren, wagging his finger at a demigod as if he spoke to a wayward child. "Who's been with him while you were walking cross-country? Who is with him now?"

" **There is a fairy shrine-** " began Link.

"I mean, who that he can see and talk to? If he's as conflicted as you say, no fae creature will show herself near him. Among mortals, only the pure of heart can thread deep wildwood labyrinths and speak with fairies and so forth," said Ensren.

" **So he is already lost. Has been lost. Again. It has all been for nothing,** " said Link, returning the sword to its place across his back and hanging his head. Gan was right. He _would_ have to end it. He'd ignored so many warnings of Ganondorf's inevitable descent towards evil out of his own weakness and sentiment. He would have to go back. As soon as he recovered the ocarina. As soon as he could gather the strength.

"There's a vast difference between _potential_ and _actual_ evil. Whatever poor choices he might have made in his past lives, whatever your devotees might have blamed on him, what matters right now is who he becomes in _this_ life," said Ensren, placing a kind hand on his shoulder. Warm. Steady. "Don't let your fear of another tragedy destroy the very hope you're trying to save."

Link stared at him in wordless confusion.

"Living alone in the wilderness only works in myths and legends and storybooks. Actual people need more than food and shelter. They need community if they are ever going to understand what is good and right and true. They need family. They need purpose. They need to love and be loved. They need to be able to make little mistakes so they can learn, and they need to be free to choose their fate," said Ensren gently. "Bring him to us, Vohatyr."

" **I can't** ," said Link, his hand drifting to the coiled braid.

"You don't have to save the world alone. We may not have magic powers, but we can still help," said Ensren. "What's his name?"

" **Ganondorf** ," murmured Link.

"Oh," said Ensren.


	81. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 35

Another glorious midsummer sunset gilded the vast southern fields of Termina. Rain clouds gathered upon the distant hem of the mountains, but the wind lazed across the countryside, disinterested in easing the heat anywhere else.

Two men sat on the slope of a hill near the verge of plain and cypress forest. They were of a height, both densely muscled, both serious. One wore deceptively simple clothing dyed in shades of indigo and gold, the other wore shining silver armor and snow-white livery. One man held a coil of red rope as if it were a holy relic, the other held a jug of distilled spirits as a drowning man holds his breath. One spoke with the quiet matter-of-fact pragmatism of a true farmer. The other spoke with the voice of tempests.

One was merely mortal.

The divine warrior set the empty jug beside him and closed his shining white eyes. He buried his painted face in his gloved hands, and a flood of many-colored light poured from him and the great spiral sword strapped to his back. Birds rioted from the trees, and small creatures fled through the tall grass in stark terror. The farmer remained.

The light faded away as twilight deepened, leaving behind a pale boy with golden hair, small for his age, his blue eyes haunted. He wore a shapeless charcoal tunic and ill fitting gray breeches. His black boots showed the stains and insults of hard travel, and the plain sword upon his back rode in a battered sheath.

The boy offered a painted wooden mask to the farmer. He accepted it after a long silence, setting it aside to pull the exhausted boy into his arms instead, humming an old lullaby.


	82. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 36

Dawn tiptoed through the dripping cypress, whispering over the surface of the murky water. The swamp seemed weirdly peaceful, and even the dragonflies lazing about in the distance contributed only a sleepy hum to the morning. Link knelt at the stern of the stolen boat, pulling the oar through the waters slowly, silencing his approach as much as possible. Nothing seemed to notice his passing - even the frogs ignored him. Yet he remained completely unable to shake the sense of looming danger.

Link brought the boat alongside the shrine island, and still, nothing happened. He touched his own face to reassure himself he hadn't grabbed the stone mask and forgotten about it. He told himself he should be grateful for the peace, securing the little craft to a couple young cypress near the shore.

And still, the nebulous dread followed him.

Link told himself it was likely nothing more than the lingering electric buzz under his skin. It didn't really _hurt_ \- but it itched, and made him feel jittery and strange when it flared. The great desert fairy restored most of him, eventually. Some unusually stubborn twist of Gan's wild lightning blast still resisted her magic, even after she managed to knit Link's body back together.

It flared again when he passed the gate of the shrine, gilding the edges of everything and tingling through his squishy new flesh and tickling his ears with the illusion of a murmured prayer like distant thunder. He'd tried to listen to it more closely, many times. The pattern always seemed different, and he could never puzzle out more than a word or two before it vanished entirely. It reminded him of the half-nightmares that broke his rest in this time, and it reminded him of waking up in the Beedle wagon far too late.

Link shook the thought away, padding down the marble slope towards the subtle luminescence of the sacred spring. At the edge of the water Gan sat in perfect lotus, facing the living waters rising at the center of the pool. His long, frayed braid coiled on the ground behind him, and the half-empty bottle of King's Tears stood in the exact middle of the other dusty gifts on the offering stone.

"It's a good thing you weren't born a thief," Gan rumbled without turning.

Link winced. "You said that once, before."

"It's only truth. You're terrible at being stealthy, and _you_ could never sneak up on _me_ anyways," said Gan, lifting his chin. He still did not turn, but only stretched his hands with audible cracks and pops. "Why did I say it last time? What were you doing?"

"I was - trying to surprise you. A good surprise. A gift. For your birthday. It was a very small thing, so I was going to hide it in your room for you to discover later. I guess I thought that would make it more interesting," said Link, easing closer.

"No more hiding," rumbled Gan with a shake of his head. "I don't like this game."

"I'm sorry," said Link, pausing just behind him. Gan was being so strange this time, always either dangerously intense or eerily subdued, with nothing in between.

"I don't want _sorry_ ," grumbled Gan. "I _want_ you to be real this time."

"I'm here," murmured Link, reaching out with his weak right hand to touch Gan's bare shoulder lightly.

Gan said nothing, but reached up to press his hand with surprising gentleness.

"You're trembling," said Link. "When did you last eat? Sleep? How long have you been just sitting here?"

Gan shrugged. "That doesn't matter. It's fine. I left the goats plenty, and the cucco can fend for themselves."

"I asked about _you_ , not the animals. Stop trying to shrug this off. Even if you don't care anymore what happens to you, it matters to me," said Link, circling around to his left side and trying to meet his gaze. But Gan's eyes were closed, and in the dim ethereal reflection of the spring his lashes caught the light almost as if damp.

"I said, it's fine. The visions are just - getting stronger. Hard to keep holding focus," said Gan with a sigh. "Get your blade out so we can move on to the next already."

Link frowned, shaking his shoulder. "What are you talking about? Gan, it's _me_. I'm here."

Gan opened his golden eyes by the smallest possible margin. "Yeah. You say that every time. I just - can't stay in the dream. I have to wake up. I haven't found it. I have to - keep trying. Do it quick this time, ok? Run me through or something since you're whole in this one, so I can wake up faster."

"What are you talking about? Why would I - Gan - listen to me. I'm not here to hurt you. These are _bad thoughts_ ," said Link, dropping to his knees and trying vainly to make Gan look at him.

"I'm not a nice person. My head is _full_ of bad things, all the time. That's why I need you to help me wake up," said Gan, pressing his hand gently. "It's alright. I'd do it myself - just can't seem to focus long enough to conjure a knife-"

" _Stop_ , please. Don't do this again. Listen to me," begged Link, cupping his left hand under Gan's jaw and forcing him to meet his eye. "I'm sorry it took me a while to make it back home, ok? But you don't need a knife. _Any_ knife. I'm right here with you, for real. I _am_ mostly healed now. It's alright. Everything will be ok this time. You're not dreaming anymore. You're not alone. _I'm here_."

Gan's golden eyes searched his own, revealing nothing of his thoughts. After a long silence, he pulled Link off balance and folded him in a fierce embrace.

"Um," said Link.

"Shut up," murmured Gan into his hair. "Don't scare me like that again, you _stupid_ bastard."

Link couldn't find any answer to that, so they remained beside the fairy spring for a long time in the quiet. Being enveloped in his strength and warmth was somehow weirdly comforting, like a quiet dream, like the memory of sitting near Idrea's ovens in winter. He knew Gan wasn't any bigger than he'd ever been at fifteen - and he certainly was thinner than before. If they made it through to the other side of destiny this time, he would be even taller in a few years. But the last time he'd been this much smaller than his enemy-friend-brother-son-captive was probably half a century ago, if the branching times could be laid end-to-end.

That attempt had ended in one of the more painful disasters, too.

When Gan fell asleep and began to list to the side, he couldn't bear it any longer. He thumped his fist against Gan's chest when nothing else got through to him. Unfortunately that mostly encouraged Gan to tighten his grip until Link could barely breathe.

"We - should go. Rest, and eat, and - we should travel to Clocktown. For supplies and - things. I'll need your help to manage," Link managed. "Still not - quite as strong or steady as before."

"Later," he mumbled.

"Don't be stubborn," wheezed Link.

"I'll think about it," said Gan. "Just - give me a minute. Ok?"


	83. Sorrows Come Not As Single Spies : 37

Harvest celebrations in Termina straddled the golden border of summer and autumn. Any given day could bring sweltering heat or cooling sunshowers, often within hours of each other. Farmers cursed the sky and the gods and their neighbors and their neighbor's cow and anything else they could think of, anxiously awaiting the right moment to mow the grain.

Ganondorf stuffed his hands in his vest pockets, ambling through the verge toward the South Gate. He remembered the flight from Clocktown as rather _significantly_ shorter than the long walk to it. He hadn't expected that, since he'd nearly doubled in height, and Link seemed to be more or less the same. His memory might have grown fuzzy from so many years seeing nothing but their little corner of the far swamp, but more likely Link had quietly altered time - or his experience of time - with that bluestone flute.

But could he have managed two or three _weeks_ trudging through snow and frozen marshland at that age? In city clothes? Even his wolfos-fur cloak wouldn't have made much difference once the rest of him got soaked.

What foolishness he'd indulged then, thinking he could have crossed the Sand Sea and defied the great destroyer alone. At _six_. He abhorred his mountainous debts to the Warrior Spirit - but what could be done? His only leverage against it remained his inherent threat to the powers of Light.

Gan couldn't help but hate how the spirit had rendered him nearly powerless.

But - maybe that imbalance would change when he figured out how to free himself from the curse of his wicked magic. And if the bones didn't work, there might be another ancient power that _would_.

Gan set the thought aside for a quieter hour, calling over his shoulder; "You ok back there short stuff?"

"Fuck you," grumbled Link. "Should have hired a damn horse."

Gan laughed. "Don't be stupid. There's only one place in the world you could steal the kind of horse that could carry me, and nowhere you can _buy_ one."

"I meant for _me_ ," grumped Link. "Frivolous or not, we're getting a cart on the way back, and that's the end of it."

"Sure - if you _want_ to hire an _empty_ wagon," said Gan, turning about and walking backwards to annoy his friend further. It felt strange to see the entire horizon vanish in the blue after so long in the marsh, hemmed in by swamp and forest. "I don't understand how you expect festival prices to be _lower_. Even if you're right, how can it be enough to stretch a few hundred rupee for six months' supply? If they'll even _accept_ such an archaic cut."

"You'll see. Don't worry so much," said Link with a sigh.

"Who's worried? You'll see things my way before the festival's over," said Gan with a wry grin. At least he'd persuaded Link to bring their bows. If the shooting gallery still existed, a few days should triple their funds.

Link growled at him, trudging along beside the wagon ruts some twenty yards behind. So much dust and dried mud covered his boots they seemed more brown than black, and he'd stripped off his dark woolen overtunic in deference to the warm afternoon. He pretended not to be leaning on the twistvine walking stick, but they both knew he needed more time to rebuild his old strength.

Gan clicked his tongue and climbed up onto the road to wait for him to catch up.

"I don't need _help_ ," grumped Link.

"Of course not. We merely need to reach the gate before sunset," said Gan lightly. "Unless you think we can hunt dinner _and_ breakfast this close to town."

"You _could_ have given me the ocarina back and it wouldn't have been a problem," said Link, jabbing at his chest with the stick.

"And _you_ could have taught me the song, but you didn't, so here we are. Half a day from town, out of supplies, and _absolutely_ filthy," said Gan, catching the stick in his fist. "We'll get better prices tomorrow if we don't look like we slept in the dirt for the last fortnight."

Link groaned, and cursed, but in the end he agreed to the indignity of riding Gan's shoulder at least to the edge of the ring-road outside the squat walls. He didn't really weigh much, just enough to make his muscles burn after an hour. So he shifted Link to the other side, ignoring his protests, and Gan's long strides ate the miles to the South Gate with an hour to spare.

The guard tried to make trouble about keeping pirates out of the city. So Gan loomed over the little man and complimented his bravery for insulting a witch.

Link groaned and buried his face in his hands - but the guard moved.

Inside the city, people did stare, and whisper, and the guards cringed when they walked too close. But - the crowd parted for the red-haired giant, and the women at the laundry pool promptly decided their washing was done.

The years hadn't been kind to the Stock Pot Inn. He didn't remember it being quite so dark and close either, but the innkeeper took two purple rupees, the names Dinauru and Vohatyr, and asked no questions. Anju served them pumpkin soup in the kitchen, friendly and oblivious as ever. She made small talk, sharing market gossip and innocently remarking on her surprise to meet a boy pirate, as everyone always said only girls could be pirates.

Gan laughed with her, telling himself it was better if no one connected him to the wayward child he'd been before. He ignored Link's glare and dredged up a couple vague stories about the ship's cucco getting stuck in the crow's nest, finding shipwrecks on the western 'reef,' and fending off seagoing blin.

They won four hundred rupee at the shooting gallery that night, and the owner gave them another fifty to never come again.

Gan lay awake until almost dawn, just listening to the unfamiliar noises of the inn and the city around them. His mind raced in nonsense circles, starting a fresh thought in the middle of another. Nothing important - his wickedness offered the same familiar memories and possibilities in the middle of thinking up lists of things to look for in the market and trying to spin out the fastest way to scrape together enough rupee for six months of provisions _and_ a cart _and_ horses to pull it.

He woke an hour after dawn, his left arm full of needles and his shoulders one enormous ache from the awkward position they'd curled up in. He laid his other hand on Link's back, and thought about waking him up too. Getting an early start with the trading.

But - why bother? Without animals to feed, they could lay abed as late as they wanted for once. And how often did Link sleep so deeply he actually snored? Soft, childlike, innocent. Everything Gan was not, never had been, and may never be.

He rolled onto his back, pulling Link halfway onto his chest so he could stretch and shake off the tingling without waking him.

Gan surfaced again as the carillon of the great clock sang out noon. Link yawned, his ear still resting over Gan's heart, his pale fists wound in the soft, lumpy wool of his shirt.

"Mornin," mumbled Gan, brushing his hand through Link's golden hair.

"Sorta," grumped Link, yawning again. "How long you been awake?"

"Dunno. Hungry?" Gan murmured, reluctant to move at all. Food could wait.

"Mmmf. Don't _wonna_ cook," Link grumbled, burying his face in Gan's shirt.

"Don't have to," said Gan. "Or clean either. It's the city. We _pay_ people to do that."

"Miser one day, spendthrift the next," said Link into his shirt.

Gan shrugged. "A meat pie and a bit of cake isn't going to make enough difference to matter. Might as well start the day with good things if we're going to spend the rest of it stuck bargaining and cheapening in the crowded streets."

Link only groaned.

"If you're set on being a layabout today I could just _carry_ you to the cake shop," teased Gan, prodding his side.

"It's too early for cake," grumped Link, pushing himself upright and grinding his fists against his eyes.

"It's _never_ too early for cake. But I'm sure they sell other, less interesting things," said Gan, folding his hands behind his head. "I bet I can get you Romani milk tonight too, once the bar opens. But you gotta go with me to the market first."

"Nah, they only serve grownups," said Link.

Gan snorted. "Somehow I suspect being taller than the door is plenty of both _grown_ and _up_ to persuade them."

Link shrugged, picking up his overtunic from the floor. "You've got a hand or two still to go. Anyways in this body they barely believe I'm old enough to go outside the walls even when I have the sword on. I don't have the right mask to get booze this way. It's fine."

Gan stared at his thin back, wondering what he meant about bodies. "They _are_ pretty weird about masks in this city."

"Yeah," said Link with a shrug. "I forget which ones I left here. We should check that first, and then go to the market."

"Cake first, _then_ masks," said Gan, rolling out of bed and grabbing his long vest from the pegs behind the door.

The bakery in the clocktower square wasn't as good as he remembered, but a couple fat red rupee bought enough sausage-and-cheese bread to make even _his_ stomach quiet, and four little fried cakes dusted with spicebark and sugar. As soon as they finished eating, Link insisted on traipsing across the city to a square somewhat north of their inn. He poked around between buildings, clambering over crates haphazardly piled in the alleys until he found the dark and stinking gutterway he was apparently looking for.

Not that he bothered to explain, or remember that maybe Gan couldn't easily follow in such a small space. A passing guard tried to make trouble while he was struggling to deadclimb rough stonework that would have been a simple matter nine years ago, but only until she got close enough to realize he was half again her height. She rambled something about piracy being illegal inside the town walls and 'let him go' with a warning.

Eventually he managed to get past the worst of the trash and find Link's footprints in the mud. He squeezed around tight corners and clambered over rubble until the trail ended at an overgrown garden wall. Ironvine and thorns tumbled over the rotting stucco, and the arched gate hung akimbo from rusted hinges. Something about that gate nagged at his memory, but with all the leaves choking this path he'd lost Link's trail. He chewed his lip, and decided to duck through the gate arch, just to see.

Gan stood in the middle of the abandoned garden path, staring at an eerily familiar burned-out shell of a house, breakfast turned to stone in his gut. Clocktown teemed with vibrant life, overcrowded and sprawling. But within the crumbling walls of this forgotten corner, nothing had changed except the season.

Link stood in the tall grass beside the lightning-struck oak tree, jabbing his walking stick into a mound of soft dirt, oblivious to the world.

Gan paced along the overgrown paths, absorbing details he'd missed on that solstice night. Blood-red brambleflowers on a weathered trellis. A forest of asparagus inside a rotting wattle fence. Drunken rows of leeks and wilting onions, a dozen kinds of safflina along the walls, going to seed. Thistles under gaping windows. Juniper pushing its way through the ruined wall to either side of the charred back door. The transom above had long since shattered, but the heavy maple slab itself with its rusty wrought iron latchset still stood in mute and fruitless guard. "Is this - your house?"

Link shrugged. "Sometimes. I don't like people anymore either."

Gan shivered. "What happened here? When?"

"Bad things. I don't want to talk about it," said Link.

"I don't think we should be here," whispered Gan, his ears ringing with the cry of restless spirits. He'd almost forgotten what it was like, walking among the unhallowed dead. Once, the voices of the dead had been familiar as his books, and he'd learned well their various moods. Some were dangerous, some were clever, some couldn't hold a single thought any better than a butterfly. Just like people.

The background noise of the storm headaches and the wicked rage corrupting his blood were nothing to the muffled screams and wails of the lost ones somewhere under the ash and rubble of that ruin. The magic whispered to him of great power hidden there. Energy to be harnessed in those vengeful spirits. Secrets buried in this haunted ground.

"Not yet - I've almost got the riddle solved. Just another minute," said Link, his tone weirdly flat and hollow.

"We can come back tomorrow. I don't think it's going anywhere," said Gan, backing away from the iron cellar door with its heavy spiked padlock. He'd studied locks just like that, years ago.

"It's ok," said Link, hitting something solid in the dirt with his stick. "There were bad things in the before, but no one comes here now."

Gan swallowed his uneasiness long enough to help him lever the rusty iron chest out of the hole in hopes of getting them both out of the haunted garden as quickly as possible. The cries of the spirits followed him through the streets as they dragged the heavy cache back to the inn. _Why didn't you save_ _ **me**_ , they wanted to know. _Where is_ _ **my**_ _hero? When will you come back to save_ _ **me**_ _? What did_ _ **I**_ _ever do to offend the gods?_

The lock and hinges both proved to be rusted shut, and at length Gan persuaded Link to let it be until morning. The doorman at the tavern tried to turn Link away at first, but a casual inquiry about the man's opinions of little people and any particular issues with his big brother put a stop to that. The noise of the tavern drowned out the voices, mostly. He didn't remember the spirits being quite so desperate here before - but he hadn't really been _trying_ to listen for them, either.

The serving girl trembled her way to the table and whispered the evening specials. She barely managed to take their order, even after Gan slid her an extra yellow rupee. She kept looking up at his eyes, squeaking, and cowering beside their table as if she couldn't even remember how to run away. Link tried to ask her for a drink, but she said if she got caught giving him booze, she'd be fired. The fact the doorman was persuaded mattered not at all to her. So Gan ordered for both of them, and a basket of cheesebread and smoked sausages too.

"This city's a lot dirtier than I remember," said Gan after she fled back to the kitchen. He cracked a few stonenuts in his fist, picking through the shards for savory morsels to share.

Link shrugged. "Snow covers many things."

"Creepy bastard," said Gan after a moment, watching him make square rank-and-file patterns with the stonenut shell fragments.

When the serving girl finally brought the precious Romani milk and hard cider to the table, Link roused from his woolgathering enough to giggle at her fumbling.

"It's unkind to laugh at someone frightened out of their wits," said a dark-haired stranger at the next table.

"Mind your own threads," rumbled Gan, wondering where the man learned the desert tongue when no one else in this city seemed to know it. He seemed comfortable enough speaking it too, even if his accent introduced weird lilts where there should never be any, lingering over the wrong parts of words.

The stranger calmly sipped his beer, nodding toward Link, who'd already drained half the fermented milk. "Anyone old enough for the drinks here is old enough to speak for himself."

Link looked the opposite direction, his narrow jaw set at a stubborn angle.

"A pity Nayru never smiled on you," said Gan with a disdainful click of his tongue. "Pick on someone your own size or keep your little _opinions_ to yourself."

The stranger met his eye without fear, tilting his head in mild curiosity. "Or else what, son of thieves?"

Gan set his cider down and stood, raking his eyes over the man. He wore no weapons, and his clothing was good - a deceptively simple linen shirt in the high-collared Terminan fashion under a deep blue waistcoat. Both garments were embroidered at the edges with a pattern of thornberry and potato leaves in onion gold. Yet his hands were broad, his fingers blunted, and his body honed by a lifetime of hard labor.

The man just watched him, sipping at his beer as if he challenged giants every day for fun.

"Meddling busybodies like you are half the reason my friend and I left your miserable country in the first place," said Gan, cracking his knuckles.

"I thought I overheard you claim you two outlanders were related in - some fashion," said the man with a significant glance at Link.

Link said nothing, and Gan didn't turn to see if he had any other reaction. His reticent moods had become almost entirely opaque since he returned from wherever the warrior spirit's invocation had taken him. Not _quite_ as bad as after a hunt - but not that much better either.

"Funny, because I thought _I_ overheard you saying you were the son of a shit-eating street cur," said Gan, stalking around the table to loom over him. "But I know how to keep my tongue behind my teeth when something doesn't concern me, _farmboy_."

The man laughed, short and sharp. "Pity Farore's grace never taught you to extend the same laws to kith or kin or whatever you are to him. You let that boy magnify the troubles of a powerless miss and not a word in her defense, but you'll bestir yourself to guard his cruelty from comment?"

Gan wound his fist in the man's clothing and hauled him up off his bench until he could growl directly into the man's face. "You want to see cruelty? Keep talking."

The rest of the room fell silent.

"If you wanted to do it, you wouldn't be wasting your wind on words either," said the man with a lopsided grin. "Name's Ensren. Pleasure to meet you, mister-?"

"Hn," said Gan, pulling the man close to murmur in his ear. "Ganondorf Dragmire."

"Din's fires, but that's a hell of a name for a young man," said Ensren, clapping his shoulder like he wasn't dangling a foot off the ground. "Put me down and the next round's on me. Seems you boys could use it."


	84. Sorrows Come Not : 38 : t-3

Spring came early, blurring the edges of a surprisingly mild winter in the eleventh year of peace in this time. Or - what passed for peace. Far away from their remote sanctuary, the Hylian civil war dragged on in fits and starts as always, but at least there didn't seem to be any reports of novel atrocities in the east. Only regrettably common ones.

Link crawled forward to scrape down the next section of the coop and tried not to think about it too much.

Ensren said war was almost as old as people. He said Gan was right about demons, that being dangerous for people didn't _necessarily_ make them evil. That people were perfectly capable of inventing their own evil, without any demons around at all. That many stories of demon curses could as easily be stories of people being afraid, being too ready to blame someone else for bad weather or sickness or misfortune.

He also agreed the demon in the ancient ship's books probably connected to Ganon somehow.

Ensren was clever, and read many hard books. He wasn't afraid of anything, not even blasphemy. Yet he _believed_ in gods and spirits and demons - just not the same way as priests. He believed legends held seeds of truth, but he also believed the stories of an ancient era of perfect peace were in truth a distorted memory of an era of bondage. A time when people not only couldn't refuse their creators' commands, but couldn't imagine doing so. He believed the myth of a war among the gods, and he believed free will was stronger than fate, and made mortals stronger than the gods and spirits in all the ways that mattered most. He believed that freedom was hard, but worth the pain and the sorrow and uncertainty and the hard work of figuring out puzzles and pulling through hard places without relying on the gods or spirits to take care of them.

Link wasn't sure what he believed anymore.

The _goats_ believed he was always hiding more food in his pockets, and the cucco believed anything he touched might be food, or hiding food, or might _become_ food if they made enough noise about it. He could have closed them in the hold until he was done cleaning the coop and the forward pens, but he didn't mind if the work took a _little_ longer. Things were easier to bear when he had a clear task to focus on.

Anyways the cucco tolerated being confined at night far better when they could wander the decks freely during the day. And he always felt a little guilty that their goats never had room to run anymore. Without the ocarina and shard together, he couldn't take them out to the grazing islands. Letting them climb on everything and wander the ship itself whenever possible was the least he could do for them. Even when they tracked filth all over the deck and kept trying to knock him over. The animals never mobbed Gan like this, but maybe they could sense the darkness coiled around his heart.

Or maybe it was enough that he was so damn _big_ now. He had to be at least a head taller than any other Gerudo, and if he was not yet full height, he would be soon. It was hard to tell, since he wasn't putting muscle on like usual, and in this body Link stood _maybe_ two-thirds as tall if he remembered not to slouch.

Not that _he'd_ ever get to be tall, even if they made it to the other side of destiny. If there was one. Just three more years until a young king with evil eyes once knelt in Hyrule castle. Ten until his last breath had brought it down around them.

But the eternal plunge into disaster could also have begun only last year, or the one before that, or eight years ago, or eleven, or seventeen, or tomorrow, or now. He'd persuaded Rajenaya to leave his wicked mothers, to at least try to cultivate the goodness and light in his soul, but still he chose to wear the name of evil. To nurture violence and greed and hate in his heart.

Without Ganondorf in the world to unite the demon factions and lawless mortals against the Light, so many other smaller evils rose on every side, too numerous to fight. Their chaos would corrupt everything good and right, and the guardians would go mad when he took their treasures to the temple, and the sword would refuse him and Zelda would vanish into the sacred realm and-

" _Enough_ ," he told the spring morning. "Those days are over. He's learned how to be kind and benevolent before. His human side _must be_ capable of love and virtue and goodness - the gods _must_ know. They _must_ see. They saved him once before - he must have done _something_ bad in secret last time where they couldn't. That's all. We were close before. I will _make_ it work this time."

The morning gave no answer.

One of the goats nuzzled against his leg. He scratched her ears until she decided to piss on his boots. Not that he wasn't already filthy, but that was just too much. He pushed her away with a blistering oath and finished shoveling crap off the deck and through the timeveil, narrowing his focus to nothing but the next heap, the next lift and turn and heave.

He pulled his boots off and dumped a bucket of water in and over them. He'd need to scrub them, but he could tend that while he washed the deck. Later. _After_ he sluiced the worst off himself and found a cleaner pair of old trousers so he wouldn't undo his own work.

Except the washroom door was locked.

Link hammered on the heavy door. "Gan - are you _still_ in there?"

Nothing.

Link swallowed hard and unfastened his belt so he could use the clasp to wriggle into the lock. A couple tumblers clicked, but the handle still wouldn't move. He rammed his shoulder against it. The remaining lockpins screamed, but didn't give. "Gan-! This isn't funny - open the goddamn door."

"Go _away_ ," shouted Gan from the other side.

Link sagged against the indifferent metal, willing his racing heart to calm itself. _Alive. Everything is fine. Alive. Just being selfish. Only a small sin. Alive._ "Gan. Come on - you've been in there all morning. You're gonna use up all the water. Again."

"I don't care. Go piss in the swamp or something," Gan shouted back.

"Don't be stubborn - let me in already. You've _had_ your shower. It's my turn," said Link.

"You can either wait till I'm done or go wash in a bucket, I _literally_ do not care which as long as you _go away_ ," said Gan.

"I won't," said Link. " _Why_ are you taking forever? It's been _hours_. I scraped the coop _and_ the pens _and_ the whole deck while you've done nothing but laze in the water?"

"None of your business. Go _away_ ," said Gan.

"Is too my business when you're hogging the bath all damn morning," said Link, wondering if he should break the lock.

"If you don't leave me _alone_ I will steal every single one of your pillows and I _won't_ give them back," shouted Gan.

"Why are you being such a jerk today? Let me in already so I can wash," pleaded Link.

No answer.

Link hammered on the door a few more times and still nothing. So he broke the prong on his belt trying to pick the lock. Gan continued to ignore him. Link tracked filth through the hall and the kitchen looking for better tools and after another half hour _finally_ the lock gave way under his hand.

Gan swore as he pushed the door open, scrambling to wrap a second bath sheet around himself right where he sat before the cracked mirror. "Godsfuckingdamnit Link, have you _no_ respect for privacy?"

"You've _had_ privacy _all morning_ ," groaned Link, leaving the ruined fork behind in the lock. "You're not even _in_ the bath - why couldn't you open the door?"

"Because I didn't want you in here? You consider that? Get _out_ ," snarled Gan, hunched over on his fat floor cushion and bundled in damp cloth. He'd dragged a bench in to serve as a table between himself and the mirror, and half a dozen beeswax tapers burned in clay cups upon it.

"What are you doing? What are you hiding Gan? Are you ok? I can't help you if you lock yourself away," said Link, padding closer, holding up his empty hands so Gan could see it was safe. Assuming he looked up. But he didn't. He just sat under the heavy bath sheets, covering his face with one of the old blue towels Idrea made for them in the last time.

To be fair, the soft cloth _was_ comforting, and washing it with memoryleaf and spicewood oil in the water the way she'd taught him meant it still smelled of home even after all these years.

Not that Gan knew about any of that.

"Nothing. I'm fine. Just go. Please," said Gan, his deep voice muffled by the cloth.

"That doesn't sound like nothing," said Link, rubbing his hands on his less-filthy shirt before daring to touch Gan's shoulder.

Gan sighed. "You stink."

"Well, _yeah_. I've been cleaning the deck. I told you. I need a bath," said Link, frowning.

Gan gestured impatiently, shooing him away. "Fine - go wash up before you track shit everywhere, I don't care. Just - leave me alone and _stop staring_."

"But what's _wrong_ Gan? I don't understand," said Link, trying to peer over his hunched shoulders to see what else was on the bench. Candles. Snarls of string. A little penknife. A bobbin of more string.

Gan pushed him away with a growl. "I don't want your stinking _help_. Especially the stinking part. Go - elsewhere. What did you _do_? Yeesh."

"If you weren't so stubborn I'd already be clean by now," said Link, stepping back. "The goats were being cranky. They don't do as well cooped up on the ship."

"They've always been - oh. Wait," said Gan, lifting his head. His golden eyes caught the candlelight enough to shine in the mirror even with the sheet over his head. "You used the flute. To take them outside. Before."

"Yeah," said Link, averting his eyes. "I'm just - gonna wash up. Ok? Don't go anywhere. Or do anything stupid. I'll be quick."

Gan just groaned and buried his face in the blue towel in his massive hands. He muttered something under his breath, too muffled to make out, but he stayed put. So Link hurried to strip off his filthy clothes, kicking them into the far corner while he stood under the sluicegate to scrub down. He found the other blue towel to wrap himself in, and still Gan neither moved nor spoke.

Link padded over next to him, laying a tentative - but now clean - hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? What happened? Everything seemed ok last night. Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah. Something like that. Now go away," Gan growled, hunching deeper into the towels.

Link frowned. "Why are you lying?"

Gan's rumbling curses turned into a roar when he tried to pull back the edge of the bath sheet. "Stop looking at me! It's because I'm hideous ok? Just - get out and leave me alone."

"Why is your face all - puffy and red? What are you doing?" Link asked, hauling at the towels anyway. A cloud of little red hairs rose into the air when the cloth snapped taut.

"Din's fires, why can't you _ever_ back down on _anything_? Not everything is your damn business," shouted Gan, throwing down the blue towel and letting go of the big bath sheet around his head and shoulders. He'd tied his long hair back in a single queue without bothering to comb or arrange it first, and his eyes were red around the edges too, glistening at the corners like he'd been crying. But Gan _never_ cried, except as a very small child.

Link dropped the damp sheet and reached to touch his cheek, but Gan pulled away and buried his face in his hands again. "Are you - pulling out your eyebrows or something? Why? Doesn't that hurt?"

"No, and _of course_ it hurts, idiot. You wouldn't understand, you with your perfect smooth face that never fucking changes," growled Gan.

Link frowned, stroking his damp hair and his bowed shoulder, trying to coax him out of hiding. "What do you mean? My face changes all the time. Look at me - why would you ever say you're hideous? What's _really_ wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing _happened_. Look," said Gan with a long-suffering sigh, gesturing at the mirror and averting his gaze. "Every damn day it's worse. I can _never_ get it all."

"I don't see anything but you," said Link, baffled.

Gan said nothing, hands hanging limp over the ledge of his knees, fingers still tangled in a loop of string.

"Talk to me," said Link, cupping his hands under Gan's jaw, coaxing him to turn his head. "I can't read minds like you. I don't know what's wrong unless you tell me."

Gan snorted. "I can't read minds."

"Tsk. You shouldn't lie. It's a bad habit," said Link, mimicking Ensren's dry tone in hopes of provoking a laugh.

But Gan remained serious, his deep voice vibrating under Link's fingers. "I haven't ever been able to listen to your spirit. Not like that. Until we went back to Clocktown I thought spirit eyes only worked with my people."

Link frowned. "But you - saw my dreams. You knew things I never said. Even without magic - you could touch my face and _see_ things."

"Not in this life," murmured Gan, meeting his eye. "Sometimes I wish I could. But I think about how you scream in your sleep when I'm not there to shake you out of it, and then I don't want that spell anymore unless I could _take_ the dreams too. But demon magic is pretty much the opposite of that."

"It couldn't be a wicked spell. You saw fairies then," said Link, trying to smile at the memory of a stubborn boy insisting he'd picked the best one. "You were the most powerful sorcerer anyone had ever seen. Lightning-bright. Ambitious. Strong. People are stupid and cowardly, that's all. They didn't know you like we did. They were afraid."

Gan winced. "But not stronger than the shadows, the wickedness, the cursed magic. Not stronger than _him_."

Link pulled him close, pressing Gan's ear to his chest and willing him to hear, to see, to hope again. Hope was of the light. He was born in the light. He carried the light somewhere under everything else. If only he would embrace the Light this time. He buried his own nose in Gan's fiery hair, ignoring the ticklishness of it. It was weird - in every time after the first, whatever he did, whatever soap he used, under it all he always smelled faintly like heat and spices. Maybe in the first too, but he'd never gotten close enough to notice except when Ganondorf was dying under the sacred blade, and he wasn't really trying to notice _anything_ then.

"We were _so close_ Jojo," he whispered. "Listen - the truth. Do you hear it now? Can you see how much good you have inside you? I've seen it. I don't mind if you use that magic if it helps you. Hope is important."

"I don't know how," rumbled Gan.

"We'll figure it out this time. Together. Just us. I will fix it in this time," said Link.

"I meant the spell," said Gan, his voice rough around the edges of the words. "And there's still the _other_ problem. Being ever more huge and ugly and different and oh yeah, _incidentally_ also evil incarnate."

Link groaned, pulling back just enough to make Gan look at him again. "Don't say mean things like that. Different isn't _bad_. It just _is_."

Gan snorted in derision, rolling his eyes. He grasped Link's hand and rubbed his palm down the side of his face, where a few soft whiskers tickled already. "You feel that? _Real_ Gerudo are smooth and slender and pretty. My sisters are all the colors of sand and earth, Din's children, but _look_ at what I become. No matter how hard I try."

"What's wrong with olive and rust colors? I think you look handsome," said Link. "Why didn't you _say_ you wanted to shave? Just because some people don't have whiskers doesn't mean you shouldn't, if you want to. I don't, but Ensren does. I bet he'd teach you how shaving works so you don't have to-"

"Shut up," said Gan, hunching down to bury his face in his cupped hands again. "Just - shut up, and give me a minute, ok? Go - find pants or something. We'll talk about it later. _Maybe_. If you shut up _now_."

"But Gan-" said Link, touching his shoulder, but Gan shrugged him off.

"I said _go_. Please."

What else could he do? Link went.


	85. Sorrows Come Not : 39 : t-1

Summer brought all the usual heat and soggy air, but a gentle storm rolled through the marsh on solstice eve in the year Ganondorf was nineteen. He lingered on the sandbar, letting the cool rain soak through his shirt, through his braids, feeling the sand turn to clinging muck under his bare feet. He knew he should be hungry - and Link would fuss if he didn't eat enough of the spiced cucco pie later.

Gan raised the jar of applejack again, savoring its heat on his tongue. He didn't crave drink the way Link did - few could - but acquiring a taste for certain spirits numbered among the many changes the years wrought in him. A little bit at the right time was like scouring sand, smoothing the jagged places inside him. Sometimes it actually helped him think, blurring out distractions so he could focus on his work.

Gan laughed at his own folly, idling in the rain until Link came to the rail of their ship to tell him the tea was ready. He didn't really want tea, but it was a good excuse to avoid his project a little longer. Even though the jewelry forge was tiny, and as well-shielded as he could make it, fire would never be pleasant to labor over in summer.

Casting a dozen more bloodsteel rings could wait. After all, once the sun set it would be his birthday. Link always said birthdays were supposed to be nice. What was nice about sweating over forge and anvil for hours on end in hopes that maybe _this_ pattern would prove more effective than the last?

Link helped him squeeze most of the water from his long braids and brought the tea up to the ancient captain's cabin. Gan poured and sweetened the tea as Link dragged out the last bag of indigo-dyed goat's curls. He drank maybe half his cup before he lost himself in fluffing out a handful and spinning the curls into smooth, strong yarn exactly the color of his eyes. Gan lounged in the deep window seat, reading aloud the next chapter in the frivolous - and probably fictional - pastoral adventures of a celebrated singer from the western coast.

A soft breeze rose at twilight, whispering through the woven screens they'd made a few years ago to cool the room in summer. They sat in silence a while after he finished the chapter. He didn't much care what happened next in the story, and Link gave no indication he did either.

"Let's move the looms and sleep up here tonight," said Gan at last.

"It'll be bright though. You don't like getting up early," said Link, winding another ell of perfect yarn onto his spindle.

Gan shrugged. "I don't like sweating all over my pillow either. Anyways, we'll need an early start for braiding my hair."

Link tipped his head in thought. "But I only finished those snake braids four days ago. They look fine. Did I not get enough oil in between last night?"

"You did, but I was out in the rain," said Gan with a wry grin, tracing the edge of the pages with his fingers. "Anyways this pattern isn't any cooler than spinebraids after all. So let's do a plain three-into-three instead."

Link raised a brow, walking the spindle up to his hand again. "Then it has to come down tonight, or it'll be too bouncy and tangly tomorrow. And you'll have to remember to tie a scarf over it every night or it'll have to be done fresh."

"Hn," said Gan, opening the book again to run the corner of the remaining pages under his thumb. "We've about twenty chapters left. That's what - ten days of braids?"

Link groaned and made a face.

Gan laughed, moving to the floor cushion under the window seat while Link set aside his work to fetch the combs. He teased Gan about his fickle habits, but he grinned when he said it. He liked to be busy all the time anyway, and he was good at braiding. Sometimes it seemed to help him sleep easier too, when Gan let him help arrange his hair for the night. Even if just to plait smaller braids into one fat rope so he wouldn't roll over on it.

It was a small, nice thing, the combs pulling through smoothly without having to twist around to do it himself. A good thing, Link's skilled fingers in his hair. Working oil into the curls, against his scalp. A safe thing, to press his back against the smooth wood of the seat, Link's knees against his shoulders as he slipped his small hands under the braids, brushing the back of his neck, dividing the weight across his lap.

"You sure? Take them all out?" Link spoke softly, tracing one plait with his warm fingers, untangling it from the rest. "I could do a three-in-three with it like this. If you want."

"Yeah, I'm sure," rumbled Gan.

Gan turned pages without seeing them as Link's nimble fingers unraveled the first plait and smoothed it down. After all, birthdays were supposed to be nice.


	86. Sorrows Come Not : 40 : t-0

Another autumn gilded the trees, but Link took no pleasure in it the year Gan turned twenty. More monsters challenged the marsh every month, and deku baba sprouted up on half the little islands.

It didn't make sense.

Rumors from Hyrule weren't any different than before. Gan was keeping himself busy with his chain-weaving experiments. Everything was fine. Fourteen years of time unreeling without his hand in it more than absolutely necessary, and nothing happened.

Except.

He was having the dream again.

He dug out the All Night Mask the second time it came to him in the middle of the day. Gan hated that mask, so he had to wear a hood pulled forward to hide it when he felt himself start to slip.

Somehow staying close to Gan seemed to keep the dream away. Where Link could listen to his Rajo alive again, swearing at his tools, ordering fragile spell-forged metal to obey him, grumbling at his books and notes. Where he could look at Gan's sharp features and be reassured his eyes were still richly gold, not wicked red and sickly yellow. Where he could find an excuse to touch his unbroken dark skin and know he wasn't dreaming.

"Hey. You're too close to the mold - get back or you're gonna get burned," snapped Gan.

"Sorry," said Link, going back to the bench by the other worktable and locking his hands around the edge. That was the trouble - or, one of the troubles - with the all-night mask. The longer he wore it, the harder it became to stay connected to this body, this place. He kept finding himself on his feet with no memory of having moved.

Gan swore under his breath, pouring molten metal into the strange box of wax and wet sand. Link wasn't sure what he was making this time, only that it involved melting down a _lot_ of copper and silver and steel. Which was fine. It kept him busy. Gan liked to be busy.

"Hey. Don't touch that," snapped Gan, slapping his hand away from the neat line of shining tools. "Those are still too hot for you. Go stand over _there_ while I get the forge banked, ok? Count to a hundred or something and stop getting underfoot."

"Sorry," said Link. He tried to do as Gan asked, but he kept losing count when the red forgelight reflected against Gan's dark skin.

"Hey. Short stuff. The hell's under your skin today? You wearing that horrible contraption aga- ew. Godsdamnit Link, it's _not good_ to keep wearing that thing. You're bleeding again and it's _going_ to get infected if you don't listen to me," growled Gan, hunched over and dropped to one knee to meet his eye.

"Nothing," said Link, staring at his boots. They looked strange to him, in one breath like they weren't quite touching the floor, and in the next as if he was sinking down through the ancient steel.

Gan grunted, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "This doesn't look like nothing. Tell me the truth. Why are you afraid to fall asleep this time? What happened?"

"Nothing," said Link, shaking his head. He pulled the mask off, blinking painfully dry eyes and wondering why the insides of his head felt itchy. "I'm not afraid of you or anything. It's just - the year it would have. And it was autumn when the - strange things in the forest and - the great deku and-"

"You have a fever," interrupted Gan, pressing the back of his hand against Link's brow. "When did this start?"

"I don't know," said Link, turning the mask over in his hands, prodding the black filigree thorns that helped keep him awake so he wouldn't see Hyrule burning behind his eyes. "Everything was always the same in the village, but on the outside it was gold and leaves falling but they said the trees were only sleeping but it was green at the castle and I had to climb or they yelled at me worse than Mido and-"

"Shh. It's ok. You're not in that time anymore. You don't have to remember if you don't want to. I was asking about the _fever_ ," rumbled Gan, brushing his hair out of his face the same way Idrea used to.

"I feel fine," Link shrugged. "I just - don't want you going anywhere when I'm asleep, and I don't want to dream."

Gan frowned. "So it's not just falling through fog anymore. Tell me how it's changed."

"Well - at night it _is_ still the same. Falling and fog and singing that turns into a shout and then I wake up with the insides of my head itching and little tiny itchy lightnings inside my right hand," said Link with a shrug.

"Tell me about the song," said Gan, kneading his shoulder.

"I don't know," said Link, pressing his thumb into the mask's thorns and feeling dizzy. "The shouting is the same as always. Something _will_ , and _blood_ , and _no more_. The song doesn't make sense. Thunderstones and blades and a tyrant's stroke, whatever that means. "

"It either means a whip or the use of one" said Gan, frowning deeper. "A tyrant is just someone with absolute power over someone else, and stroke means to - touch something in a direction. Like a scourge or a whip, when you let the cable lay across the skin to make the pain go deep without leaving scars, instead of snapping the tip to draw blood."

"Why do you even know that?" Link looked Gan in the eye as he asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer. The twin witches were not nice people.

"A lesson from long ago," he said with a shrug, as if his pain didn't matter. As if his obsession with being untouchable wasn't another stone on the scales. "Thunderstone is just flint. But if the triad meant _fire_ , the third image would be something that could burn. Wood or paper or straw. The shout sounds like it's a seal of some kind. The end of a spell. For most things, _will_ is enough, but blood magic is immensely powerful. You said once it feels like you're looking for something lost or important in this dream. So it could be a - poetic way of remembering your life before you learned the blue magic. Or if the seal goes with the triad in the song you hear, it could be you're remembering a locking or shield spell directed at the thing the triad describes. Maybe the new dream is just another part of it."

Link shook his head. "It's not a new dream. It's the _old_ one. From the before of the first. Before I ever saw you for real. Before the strange things and the bad things and I don't want to talk about it."

Gan sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He scrubbed his face and shook his head, staring at Link with frightening intensity. " _The year it would have happened_. So we've caught up to the place you stepped out of the river of your own time. You think it's going to happen again. That everything I've done to unravel the fucking prophecy is all for nothing."

Link couldn't make his tongue work.

Gan blew a tight breath through his nose and pushed to his feet. "I don't know if this experimental bullshit is going to do what I want. But I think there's something else that will. The ancient captain never wrote about it directly, but I'm pretty sure that they hid whatever it is somewhere in what is now central Hyrule and _that_ will be capable of manifesting _literally_ anything."

"No," breathed Link. _The evil man ceaselessly uses his vile, sorcerous powers in his search for the Sacred Realm, where one will find the divine relic..._

"Stay put," said Gan, stalking past him down the hall and climbing the steps three at a time.

Link gathered his wits and hurried after him, but the stairs seemed to go on forever and he had to keep stopping to catch his wind.

"You don't listen any better than the hens," said Gan from the shadows when he reached the deck. When had the sun set? It had been morning just a minute ago. "Promise me this. If you can't find it in the places I've marked in these notes, you'll find a way to let me know before you go back."

Link blinked up at him, baffled.

Gan stepped forward, moonlight reflecting in his golden eyes. " _Promise_."

"Gan - I don't understand. What are you talking about? What's happening to you-?"

"You have to promise me. It's the rules," said Gan, and his teeth shone in the darkness when he smiled, wicked sharp.

"No - not again - please Gan, don't listen to the shadows," said Link grasping the top of the stair rail so hard his bones ached.

Gan stared down at him in the quiet autumn midnight, and after an eternity of silence, opened his fist. The translucent blue ocarina glowed softly in his massive palm, and he offered it without another word. His sharp sardonic grin never faltered, even as the shadows closed over them both.

Falling.

Roaring darkness.

Slippery smothering silence.  
Blood.

Brilliant crashing light and a teasingly familiar song rolling through him like distant thunder.

 _Be light of heart-_

Strong hands wrapping around him in the dizzy spangled void.

 _No shadow shall harm thee-_


End file.
